Julia stepped back. "I decided I couldn't marry you after all, Oliver."
Oliver's mouth opened, but no words came out.
She reached out and stroked his forearm lightly. "We've seen each other a handful of times in the past decade. Things have changed. We have changed. We are no longer children. During that time, you married Kate and had a child. And despite what you may have heard, I am not at my last prayers!"
Oliver blinked. "At your last prayers? I never thought such a thing, Julia. Where did that come from?"
Julia sighed. "When you proposed marriage to me, Oliver, you were so polite and formal—"
"I meant to do it all up right for you—"
"—And distant," she continued. "And you made yourself scarce after that. I began to wonder why."
"Why? Why what?"
"Why you asked me to marry you. Why you avoided me except at the betrothal party. And why," she said, setting her bag on the pavement and folding her arms across her chest, "you declined to court me when I was first out, but suddenly asked to wed me after Kate's death, without any sort of courtship, before or after. Is it any wonder I began to doubt that you wanted me? That you proposed not for myself, but for other reasons, chief among them being Violet's need for a mother?"
Oliver winced. "Indeed," he said, wishing he had left the Hortons' ball all those years ago determined to win her for his wife instead of assuming his status as a banker put the earl's daughter out of his reach. So many heartaches could have been avoided. Because it seemed she would have welcomed his suit then. And now?
A jolt went through his body as he gleaned the implication of her words. Was it true that she cared for him, as her mother had indicated?
"I love you," he said simply. "I always have. I've never truly loved anyone else."
He felt a twinge of guilt for confessing that he'd never loved Kate, but its intensity was lessened by his certainty that it was time to reveal all to Julia and hope that she would be persuaded to wed him after all.
She tipped her head to one side. "I don't believe you." And then she picked up her bag and began walking away from him, posture erect, without looking back.
Oliver rushed after her. "It's true! Have I ever lied to you, Julia?"
She stopped, put her bag on the ground again, and crossed her arms, her amber eyes glowing with anger.
"Yes," she said in clipped tones. "At your wedding breakfast, when you told me you married Kate because you loved her. And now you assert that you did not. Which is it, Oliver? It cannot be both."
Had he said that? Surely not!
"I didn't," he protested.
"You did! I asked you how the match came about so suddenly, and you said you'd come to realize you loved her after her father died and she and her mother were planning to move down to Cornwall to live with relatives."
"I said I cared for her! And I did! She was devastated at the loss of her father, and so wretched about having to become a poor relation of some cousin of her mother's. So when she hinted at a marriage between us, I couldn't think of a reason not to…"
Her nostrils flared. "You couldn't think of a reason not to?"
She moved to take up her bag again, but he moved faster. "Allow me."
She pursed her lips together. "Very well." She turned away and resumed walking, this time at a faster pace. He had to hustle to keep up with her. No doubt the trousers she wore allowed her more freedom of movement than the heavy layers of fabrics ladies wore in his time. Their time. He'd never been appreciative of Julia's long shapely legs until now—of course, he'd never had the privilege of seeing them so prominently displayed before either. That was when it occurred to him that all of the other passers-by could admire them as well. Bloody hell! He wanted to demand that she put on some proper clothing, but kept his lips clamped shut. Here it was his clothing that was drawing attention from others, and besides, he had no right to demand anything of her. She wasn't his wife yet, and he was by no means certain that she would ever be.
They walked in silence for a few minutes, occasionally stepping aside to avoid a pole or other obstruction, or to pass slower pedestrians. At one crossroad, she halted and pulled a map out of her pocket.
"I believe that's Piccadilly up ahead, so we'll have to turn right here," she said in a matter-of-fact tone, without looking at him.
"Piccadilly, is it?" he mumbled, blinking at the large signs and screens with moving figures and colorful lights. "Do you mind if I ask where we are going?"
"Not at all," she quipped. "I am going to Kensington Palace. You may accompany me, if you wish."
"Kensington Palace? Where the Duke of Sussex lives? Or, er, lived," he added. The sixth son of King George III had lived there for a number of years, and it was a well-known on-dit that the duke's collection of singing birds were allowed to fly around freely in the palace.
Julia chuckled, giving him hope that she was softening toward him. She'd always had a fiery temper, but it petered out quickly.
"The Palace is open to visitors—or at least a part of it. A kind lady I met at Zara's had a ticket she could not use, and gave it to me when she found that I'm from, er, out of town." She rolled her eyes. Good. She's looking at me. "She recommended the tour called Victoria Revealed."
"Victoria?"
She shrugged. "A royal personage, perhaps? She mentioned a great romance with someone called Albert. In any case, I thought I might as well visit there as any other, and I shan't have to spend any of my money to buy a ticket."
She gave him a long look. "You don't have one, though. And I don't suppose you have any money to buy one either."
"Of course I do," he protested, drawing a leather purse from his pocket. "Oh," he said, in a small voice. "You mean—"
"Money from this time," she said with a sigh. "Didn't you stop to think before you came here?"
He cleared his throat. "I regret to say that I did not. I was in such a hurry to find you, Julia. If you were in any danger…"
Julia grinned. "I daresay you are in more danger than I," she suggested. "You came here with no thought of money, and you aren't paying close attention to the traffic signals. It's a miracle you haven't been knocked down by a bus," she added, indicating one of the monstrous red vehicles lumbering around the corner.
He grinned back. This was the Julia he knew.
"I bow to your expertise. My only thought was of finding my bride and convincing her to come back with me. You do plan to return, do you not?"
She sighed heavily. "Of course. I do not belong here. I could not leave my mother—and my sisters and precious nieces—forever. I shall return eventually and face up to the consequences of my actions, whatever they may be." She gave him a long look. "But as for being your bride, I can promise you nothing."
Oliver took a deep breath. At least she had not refused outright. If it was true that she had had expectations of him all those years ago, it was also true that his subsequent actions had caused her great pain, and, if he hoped to win her back, he had some serious groveling to do.
"Fair enough, I suppose," he allowed, "so long as you agree to a discussion of the matter before the day is out."
She rolled her eyes. "If you had made me such an offer as late as yesterday, perhaps we should have been wed today after all." She drew a breath and released it. "But, yes, we must talk, the two of us. Not now, though. I am determined to enjoy my one day of independence in this delightfully peculiar world without being badgered by the past."
Oliver swallowed and nodded. "Agreed. The past is verboten, and the future too, for the present. I suppose we may speak of the present, then?"
She giggled. Oliver smiled with relief when he saw the twinkle in her eye. He held out his arm, and she took it. He sighed deeply. He was with Julia, and all was well with the world.
***
"And he gave me five hundred pounds," Julia told him enthusiastically, "for the remainder of my quarterly allowance, which was nearly half-spent already. I thought myself quite wealthy unt
il I saw the outrageous prices here. I cannot fathom how anyone in the twenty-first century manages to pay for everything. Why, it cost me nearly eighty pounds to have my hair cut, and I don't believe Mama pays Cox more than thirty shillings a quarter to do our hair, care for our clothing, and all the rest!!"
Blushing at his admiring look at her new hairstyle, she hastened to continue her account. "In a matter of hours, I've spent all of it but about sixty pounds, and now I shall have to pay for you as well. I suppose I shall have to sell some of my jewelry as well."
He patted his pocket with the left hand that was carrying her shopping bag. "No need. I have some coins to sell, too, you know. Should your plans include more shopping forays, that is." He gave an appreciative whistle as his gaze pored over her figure.
Julia's face, neck, and ears felt hot. "N-No, I just wanted to find clothing less singular for the period," she admitted. "I do like them," she hastened to say. "Wearing trousers is much more practical… and so freeing. I can walk so much more quickly when I don't have to worry about tripping over skirts or muddying hems. But I could never wear these clothes at home, of course."
He squeezed her hand and gave her a deliberate look. "Not in public, perhaps. But in private…" his voice trailed off meaningfully.
She swallowed. "Ladies' fashions are remarkably diverse in this period. Trousers of all sorts, even short ones, in spite of the cold weather. Skirts as well. And although my own clothing attracted a few curious looks at first, most people smiled and went on their way. Do you know, I was even taken for a tour guide at the Duke of Wellington's home at Apsley House?"
"The Duke of Wellington?"
Laughingly, she recounted what she had learned of the conclusion of the Peninsular War and Arthur Wellesley's part in it.
His mouth fell open. "We finally licked old Boney? In Belgium, you say?"
"With the help of the Belgians and the Prussians, I take it. But Wellington was commander-in-chief, and you should see all the treasures bestowed upon him from rulers all over the world for his success. He'll become Prime Minister as well, you know," she added. "A bit later, I think."
While Oliver was still processing this, a bolt of lightning lit the sky, and Julia felt drops of rain strike her face. Casting about for shelter, she caught site of a familiar green fence and grinned at Oliver. "It must be fate. That is Apsley House up ahead. Would you like me to give you a tour?"
Oliver raised his face to the escalating volleys of moisture. "By all means, my lady. Lead the way."
"I'll race you," she said with an impish look before dashing full speed ahead.
Chapter Nine
Julia managed to arrive at the gate ahead of him even though he ignored the red crossing light, an action greeted with a host of angry horns by drivers of several vehicles who had to brake quickly to avoid running him down. Gasping for air, she clutched at the gatepost and beamed at him, her face flushed and eyes shining.
"I win."
It was just like the old days, when they were children, although she'd rarely won any foot races between them. Horse races were a different matter.
But he was achingly aware that she was no longer a child, but a beautiful, desirable woman.
"No fair," he retorted mere seconds later as he dropped the shopping bag to the pavement and drew her into his arms. "You had a head start. And I was distracted by the scandalous display of my lovely opponent's shapely limbs."
The light in her hazel eyes turned darker with desire. Oliver lowered his head and touched her lips, gently at first until he felt her response, and then more urgently as he breathed in her womanly scent and felt her arms reach up to encircle his neck. The world around them evaporated, and it was just the two of them, hearts beating wildly, needing to touch and explore and affirm to each other that their feelings were real and they might still have a blissful future together.
"Dear me, is that you, Julia?" An older woman peered at them curiously from under the portico. "I scarcely recognized you in your street clothes. Do come in out of the rain and introduce us to your… gentleman friend."
Julia tensed and broke away. He released her reluctantly, and forced himself to smile at the friendly-faced woman who had interrupted them.
"Er, yes, thank you, Emma. It is coming down quite steadily now, isn't it?" Julia stammered, aiming a shy smile at Oliver before hastening toward the shelter of the portico.
Emma gave Oliver an appreciative once-over. "What is a little rain when you have more pleasant ways to occupy your time?" she reciprocated with a knowing glance. "Do come in, both of you, and have some coffee. We're thin of visitors today—November is a slow month, the weather, you know—and I'm sure Maggie would love to inspect—er—admire your gentleman escort's period attire."
Emma led them into the house, where Julia introduced him as Mr. Stanton, her fiancé—which gave him a warm feeling in his chest—to a tall, rather severe-looking woman who eyed his clothing with critical interest, and Heather, a blonde young lady in a blue and white gown, in a style resembling fashions in his own time.
"A pleasure to meet you, dear ladies." Oliver removed his hat and bowed before each of them.
Heather snorted, while the two older ladies smiled approvingly, after catching their breath in surprise.
"Not bad," Maggie commented. "There's a slight resemblance to the duke himself, do you see it, Emma? In uniform, he might work out well for the summer season. Might you be interested in a position here, Mr. Stanton? It would be temporary, of course. Out of season we keep only a skeleton staff."
Oliver's eyes widened. He really didn't know how to respond to that.
Julia smirked at him. "Oliver is a banker," she answered in his place. "Dressing in period clothing is a—a favorite pastime. Of both of us," she added.
Heather shook her head sadly. "A pity, that. We only get the older blokes. Never any gorgeous ones like you." She reached over and clapped Julia on the shoulder. "Lucky girl."
An assemblage of assorted umbrella-laden visitors filled the doorway, and Heather was sent to greet them and assist with their coats and umbrellas.
Emma hustled Oliver and Julia to the 'break room,' leaving Maggie in charge.
"Young people these days," she said with an apologetic shake of her head. "In my day, it was called rudeness. But Heather isn't vulgar, at least not like some I've met. My sister's oldest son, well, it makes me cringe to hear listen to all of the profanity that comes out of his mouth."
She waved them toward the coffee and biscuits. "Make yourselves comfortable. I have to check upstairs to make sure the custodians are ready."
"Custodians?" Oliver turned a questioning face to Julia.
"The ladies who keep a watchful eye on the visitors to make sure they don't pilfer anything," she explained, removing her jacket and cap and hanging them on hooks on the wall. Oliver followed her example, and they sat down to chat while warming themselves with hazelnut-flavored coffee.
"I believe Heather fancies me," he said playfully.
Julia's elbow poked him in the arm, nearly causing him to spill his coffee.
Heat radiated through his chest. She was jealous.
"You have no need to be jealous," he reassured her. "It's you I want, Julia. You're the one I've always wanted."
"Oh, really?" she said, leaning away from him. "I find that hard to believe, Oliver."
Oliver grimaced. "I believed myself unworthy of an earl's daughter. It didn't seem to matter when we were children, but afterward… I discovered that it simply isn't done, Julia."
She glared at him. "Oh, come now, Oliver. Of all people, you must have known that my family is not at all high in the instep. My parents loved you like a son. I'm sure they both expected…" Her upper lip trembled.
"We were children then. We played together. Marriage was the furthest thing from my mind at that time, I assure you."
"Of course it was. But that doesn't explain… later. When we met again during my first Season. If… you had any sort of interes
t, you could have spoken to me about it. Did I do or say anything to give you the impression that I was seeking a titled husband?"
Oliver's jaw clenched. She was right. He should have known.
"No, of course not. When I saw you dancing at the ball all those years ago, all grown-up and so beautiful, looking at me as you were doing, I wanted nothing more than to snatch you away from that young oaf you were dancing with and claim you for my own. And afterward, when we spoke and I discovered you were still the same girl I knew, underneath the lovely facade, I was instantly smitten."
Her lips curled. "But you never came to call, Oliver. You never bothered to ask how I felt about it. Do you have any idea how hurt and disappointed I was?"
He set his cup down and took hers out of her hand so that he could clasp both of her hands in his.
"I know that. I should have never doubted you. But I couldn't, Julia. I had nothing to offer you."
She pulled her hands away.
"No, let me finish. I know I was wrong then, and I've been wrong all along to allow my pride to prevent me from making a clean breast of things. Most especially when I did get up the courage to propose to you. Allow me to tell you all, Julia, and then you can decide whether marrying me is worth the risk."
She folded her arms across her chest and looked at him impatiently. "Very well. I am listening."
His hand came up to rub the back of his neck as he attempted to select the right words. "We were apart so many years; first, when I was at Eton, and later, Oxford. I grew up and learned things—not just the curriculum, you understand. When we were children living on adjoining estates, it was easy to disregard the difference in our stations. Neither of us cared about any of that. We were children. But later I realized that my being a banker's grandson—in the eyes of the polite world, at least—made it unlikely that we could continue our friendship as adults."
A quick glance told him that she was biting her lips to keep from speaking, so he persevered.
Mistletoe, Marriage, and Mayhem: A Bluestocking Belles Collection Page 13