Yet one by one, reasonable copies of them began to appear in his wardrobe. One day there were two of them; a fine silver silk, another gold and black pattern. The next day, the burgundy, followed by the forest green the next. Bartholomew was as perplexed as Julian was. When Tinley was questioned, the old man readily assured his lord that he had lost most of his mind, but not that much of it.
It was her. Claudia was the only other person who could possibly know which ones had been lost, and as the daughter of a fastidious earl—one far too concerned with his appearance in Julian’s humble estimation—she knew very well where and how to replace them. He did not ask her, but every time he wore one of the resurrected neckcloths, he watched her closely, looking for any sign that she had done it. The little devil pretended to never notice.
There was more. Her teas had suddenly stopped, as had the bizarre events for ladies she had often staged. There was no explanation for it, but it seemed to Julian that instead of her teas, she was waiting for him every evening. She seemed always nearby, engaged in some quiet activity. Just being. And he noticed that when Claudia was just being, his snifter was filled with fine brandy, his cheroots were neatly trimmed and handy, the newspaper folded to the financial pages as he liked it.
She was driving him mad, all right, because he was actually beginning to look forward to her presence, to feel a curious sense of peace when she was near. No one needed to tell him how preposterous that was. Everyone knew that Claudia Whitney was a woman who laughed at men and filled her days as she pleased. She was the sort of woman for whom a man would do just about anything—God save all of the poor bastards—but she was not the sort of woman who would actually dote on a man. Yet she was doting on him! The question was, why?
It honestly frightened him on a level he could not quite comprehend. If everything had been normal, he might have become completely besotted with her … if he wasn’t already. But Julian was not going to allow that to happen. He was not going to fall any more in love with her than he already had the misfortune to have done. He was not going to believe her utterance of love that night in the library. He was not going to let the woman touch him in any way, because the next time she turned away from him, he was quite certain it would kill him.
Julian was up earlier and earlier each morning, his sleep growing more fitful. On one particular morning, he allowed Tinley to serve him a steaming plate of eggs and tomatoes—then proceeded to do a full inspection, as there was no telling what Tinley might think were eggs these days. Satisfied everything was in order, he dined at leisure, perusing yesterday’s newspaper, until Claudia startled him by breezing into the breakfast room at an ungodly early hour, a gorgeous smile on her face.
He extended a curt nod before jerking the paper up so that he could not see her. He could hear her, however, and heard her rummaging around the room before seating herself at the table. He waited, expecting some sort of cheerful quip to start his dismal day … but he heard nothing even as benign as a small sip of tea. Against his better judgment, he lowered his paper.
Seated directly across from him, Claudia flashed a brilliant smile that dimpled her cheeks. He lowered the paper farther, frowning mightily at her, because the Demon’s Spawn looked as if she had just swallowed one very fat canary. “Well? What are you about?” he gruffly demanded.
Still beaming, she nodded to the table between them. Julian looked down; there between them was a small pot of violets, its purple flowers a showy contrast to the dark mahogany wood. A pot like a dozen or more now scattered about the house. He stared at the little pot, and kept staring as Tinley wandered to the sideboard and helped himself to tea. “I don’t understand,” he said at last. “What is the significance?”
Claudia’s grin widened impossibly, and Julian was quite certain he did not want to know the significance. “Don’t you remember?” she asked gaily. “You had them on your table every morning at Kettering Hall—you said you liked to look at your favorite color because it helped you eat Mrs. Darnhill’s dreadful porridge.”
The Demon’s Spawn had lost her mind. “I never said any such thing,” he protested.
“Naturally you did,” Tinley interjected, and sipped casually from his teacup.
Julian cast an impatient glance at him. “Shouldn’t you be polishing something somewhere?”
“It’s Wednesday, my lord.”
That signified only in Tinley’s decrepit mind, and Julian was about to tell him so when Claudia insisted, “You did, Julian. The violets grew almost wild around Kettering, and there were fresh cuttings of them every morning. Jeannine and Dierdre and I have been potting them for weeks now. They’ve decided violet is their favorite color, too.”
Merriment danced in Claudia’s eyes; he felt a hard pull in his chest. Marvelous. Fall victim to her charms again if you think your fool heart can take it. “I did not ask for violets, Claudia. The stuff grew like weeds and the gardeners had to do something with it so we would not be overtaken. The servants put the violets on the morning table, not I. I merely said what came to mind to persuade four young girls to eat their porridge instead of the ghastly tarts Cook made for them.”
Her smile faded completely, and Julian had the curious sensation that a light had gone out in the room. “Oh,” she said quietly. “I thought you would be pleased.”
Yes, undoubtedly she had hoped he would be so pleased that he would return to his old habit of chasing after her like a puppy. He resented the hell out of it, particularly because he was so dangerously close to doing just that. He folded his paper and stood. “I am not particularly pleased. I have no great love of violets,” he said, and shoving his hands in his pockets, walked out of the dining room, leaving his breakfast unfinished.
And leaving Claudia absolutely fuming.
What in God’s name was the matter with him? Had every shred of human decency taken leave of him? She looked at Tinley; the old man shrugged, sipped his tea, then put the cup down. “His lordship is a bit testy this morning, it would seem,” he remarked.
“And rude,” she added irritably. She looked at the little pot of violets, frowning. “I was so certain he liked violets!”
Tinley eased himself into a chair at the table. “There hardly seems much his lordship cares for of late. I find him rather dreary all in all.”
Yes. Impossibly so. Claudia stood and picked up the violets. “We will change that, Tinley.” Shoving the little pot in the crook of her arm, she smiled at the old butler. “Or die trying,” she chirped, and marched out of the breakfast room.
After much internal debate, she decided against putting the pot with all the others, as this one had been especially decorated for Julian. The girls had spent what seemed hours laboring over the pot for their uncle, so Claudia at last entered his dark study to put the forlorn little plant in a prominent position on his desk. He could not possibly miss it—she just hoped he didn’t toss it aside as he had every other gesture she had made to reach out to him. Particularly since violets were so bloody difficult to come by this time of year.
She folded her arms across her middle as she considered her placement of the little pot, trying very hard not to give in to the despair that had plagued her these last weeks. Yesterday, Doreen had cautioned her to be patient, reminding her that what she had done was not easy to forgive. Rocking in that chair of hers, she calmly informed Claudia that it might take months, if not years, for Julian to forgive her, then had tactfully pointed out that he might never forgive her.
What if he never forgave her? Claudia shifted her gaze to the drawn curtains, great swaths of heavy velvet that shut the world out from this room, just as Julian had shut the world out of his heart. How would she possibly exist in darkness like this? How would she survive the sunrise every morning, the sunset every evening, and all the lonely hours in between? God, how would Julian survive? He was despairing, drowning in it. It was painfully obvious—he wasn’t sleeping, hardly eating, and the dark shadow of worry grew deeper under his eyes each day.
/> She had helped to do it to him, she knew, but she could change it only if he would let her. Yet he stubbornly shut her out as he did the rest of the world, refusing to let her in. And that was killing them both.
With a firm shake of her head, Claudia pivoted on her heel and marched out of the study. One thing was certain—she would never survive if she dwelled on it every waking hour. Her best course was the same that had always sustained her—to stay frightfully busy. All those years waiting for her father to notice her, she had stayed busy. Waiting for Phillip to call, she had stayed busy. And when she had been forced into this marriage, she had done the same, not letting a single moment of unplanned space exist, not one bit of time in which she might think or feel or hope.
It was not easy—the guilt and loneliness she felt in this house was only made worse by the scandal Sophie’s elopement had visited upon this family. Lord Dillbey had delighted in it, using it as a platform to warn everyone at supper parties across all of Mayfair that Claudia Dane’s ideas would lead to ruination for women everywhere. There was no doubt that the entire Kettering family was suffering from their scandals, and as for her, no one would come to a tea now if her life depended on it.
So she spent her time with Jeannine and Dierdre, Ann and Eugenie, Doreen, and her weekly call to Sophie.
When she arrived at the Stanwood home later that afternoon, another new and harried footman greeted her—servants never seemed to last more than a day in this house. Apparently, the poor man had not received the proper instruction in being a footman as of yet, because he left her in the vestibule while he went off to find Sophie. That was why Claudia had the misfortune to encounter Stanwood. He strode into the vestibule as if he was the king himself, another footman on his heels.
A lecherous grin spread his lips the moment he saw her. “My, my, look who has come to call, Grimes. Lady Kettering.” He extended his hand, palm up. Reluctantly, Claudia put her hand in it, repulsed when his lips moved over her gloved knuckles. He took his time in releasing her hand, his grin widening.
She resisted the urge to wipe her hand on her cloak.
“My wife did not mention she was expecting you. I wonder why not? Perhaps she is sensitive to your unfortunate reputation? Hmmm? Do you suppose?” he asked as he casually fit a leather glove onto his hand.
The man was an ass. Conscious of the footman, Claudia merely smiled. “I can’t imagine why she didn’t mention it. I call every Wednesday afternoon.”
“I usually don’t allow Sophie to have callers unless I am present,” he continued, meticulously fitting the second glove. “But I rather suppose I might make an exception in your case. I am certain that your visit will be quite circumspect, given your own dilemma.”
All right, she had gone past being sickened to being quite infuriated. “I beg your pardon, sir, but what dilemma would that be?”
With a dark chuckle, Stanwood had the audacity to chuck her under the chin as if she were a child. “My hat, Grimes,” he said to the footman, then smiled again at Claudia. “Forgive me for attempting to be gentle. I was referring, Lady Kettering, to your ruination. They say he had you on a table—is that true?”
Lord above, what she wouldn’t give to strangle the breath from his throat! “Actually, it was a workbench,” she politely corrected him, acutely aware of the dark color flooding the poor footman’s face.
Stanwood laughed roundly and moved toward her until he was standing very near, towering over her, his eyes stone cold. Claudia’s stomach did a nauseating little flip; a kernel of fear rooted in her and began to grow rapidly. Miraculously, she held her ground, meeting his gaze head on. “I assume that you work hard to repair your tattered reputation, madam. And I further assume that in doing so, you would not wish to embroil yourself in more scandal, and therefore, would not advise Sophie to any foolishness. I will allow you to call.” His gaze fell to her mouth; his tongue flicked slowly across his bottom lip.
“However, I shall quite definitely be in residence when you grace us with your presence Wednesday next.”
Claudia could not help herself; the man revolted her, and she awkwardly stepped back, bumping into the door. Stanwood chuckled. “Go on, then,” he said patronizingly. “Go find our Sophie.” Claudia did not wait—she was suddenly desperate to be away from him. How in God’s name had Sophie ever found him desirable?
She heard him laugh, speak low to the footman as she hurried out of the vestibule, and her stomach twisted again.
Fortunately, the other footman found her in a narrow corridor. “Beggin’ your pardon, milady. Lady Stanwood is in her sitting room just now. If you will follow me.” Claudia nodded, and followed the footman through a small maze of doors and hallways and staircases. On the second floor, he paused in front of a green door and rapped. From the other side, Claudia heard Sophie’s muffled reply.
As the door swung open, she spied Sophie sitting with her back to the door, slightly hunched over. Thanking the footman, Claudia anxiously stepped inside and shut the door behind her. “Sophie! Are you well?”
With a thin smile, Sophie turned slightly; Claudia’s breath caught in her throat at the sight of her sister-in-law. It had been only a week since Claudia had last seen her, but the change was remarkable. She was still in her dressing gown, although it was nearly three o’clock. The girl was gaunt, as if she hadn’t eaten in days. Dark skin ringed her bloodshot eyes, and the natural luster was gone from her hair. “Sophie! What has happened to you?” Claudia exclaimed, feeling a rise of panic.
“Happened?” Sophie choked on a laugh. “Nothing has happened! I’ve been a bit under the weather, that’s all.”
It was a lie. “Have you sent for a physician? You should be—”
“No, of course not,” she said. “I am quite all right. Now come and please sit down—I’m so glad you’ve come! Shall I ring for tea?”
Claudia tossed her cloak to a chair and sat nervously on the edge of an ottoman near Sophie. “Now I see why Eugenie and Ann were so concerned yesterday—Ann says she never has the opportunity to speak with you alone—”
“What is their concern?” Sophie asked, a little impatiently. “I can take care of myself!”
“Of course you can,” Claudia hastily reassured her, and leaned forward, settling her hand on Sophie’s knee. “It’s just that you don’t look very well. Has Sir William said anything at all? Surely he has noticed—”
Sophie surprised her with a bitter laugh. “He’s hardly here enough to notice much of anything,” she said, glancing at her hands. “Really, Claudia, I am quite fine. I’ve had an ague, I suppose, but I am well down the road to recovery.”
But she wasn’t fine. “Why isn’t he here?” Claudia asked bluntly. The cretin ought to be fetching a physician, if nothing else!
Sophie shrugged. “I don’t know, precisely. But in truth … in truth,”—her voice fell to a whisper—“I am glad for it.”
Claudia blinked, surprised. This was hardly the same woman who had made such emotional declarations of undying love for him. “Oh, Sophie, darling … what is wrong?” she asked, wincing when a single tear slipped from Sophie’s eye.
“He’s … he’s not at all the man I thought,” she said, and suddenly looked frantically over her shoulder—rather odd, seeing as how they were alone in the room, and giving Claudia the very distinct impression that she was afraid. “Promise me you won’t tell a soul what I’ve said!” she whispered anxiously as she jerked her gaze back to Claudia.
“Sophie—”
“Promise me, Claudia! If Julian knew … if any of them knew, they would be so very angry with me!”
She was panic-stricken, and Claudia grasped her hands, holding them firmly between her own. “No one will be angry with you.”
“They will! They will because there is nothing they can do! I married him for God’s sake, and now I am his for all eternity!”
Claudia could not dispute that—the moment Sophie said her vows and signed the betrothal papers, there was nothing s
hort of an act of God or Parliament that would set her free. Much to Claudia’s chagrin, her eyes began to water, brought on by the never-ending sense of guilt. She looked at Sophie through a haze of tears—stooped over as she was with her hair falling limply about her—looking as if she carried the weight of the world on her thin shoulder. “Oh, Sophie, what can I do?” she blurted. “Tell me how I can help you!”
Shaking her head, Sophie pulled her hands from Claudia’s grasp and unsteadily wiped her own tears away. “Nothing. There is nothing you can do, Claudia.” She glanced up and attempted a weak smile. “I suppose we all pay the consequences of our actions, don’t we?”
Ah, God.
Ashamed, Claudia stared at the carpet, unable to conjure anything comforting to say to Sophie, other than she was so very, very sorry. Lord help her, she was forever sorry these days, but it was never enough. If she could, she would trade herself for Sophie, put her own life in this predicament so that Sophie would be free.
“I’ll ring for tea,” Sophie muttered, and pushed herself from the chair. As she moved sluggishly toward the bell pull, Claudia lifted her head.
What she saw froze the blood in her veins.
A myriad of images suddenly deluged her mind’s eye: images of Phillip holding her, Phillip crushing her to the wall, crushing her breast, crushing her lips, crushing her throat with his hand. Drunk out of his mind, he had attacked her the last night she had seen him alive, his hands everywhere, hurting her. Terrified, she had struggled, finally stopping the assault with a slap that reverberated up her arm. Never in her life would she forget the fear and revulsion and the feeling of utter helplessness the moment she realized she could not possibly stop him from raping her.
All of that came rushing back to her, pounding dangerously at her temple as she stared at the multi-colored bruise on Sophie’s shoulder where her dressing gown had slipped away. It frightened her, made her belly roil with nausea and her heart hammer hard against her chest. Without thinking, she surged to her feet and rushed toward Sophie, startling her badly.
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