Julia London 4 Book Bundle

by The Rogues of Regent Street

  He smiled at Adrian.

  Adrian groaned, rolled his eyes.

  “You really don’t understand, Albright. Please allow me to explain again …”

  ————

  They argued well into the night, long after Lilliana and Kerry had retired, consuming more whiskey than they ought to have done. Somewhere in the early hours of the morning the debate changed from what was best for Kerry to a hodgepodge of faulty memories and events that had made up their lives. It amused Arthur greatly to learn that Adrian had somehow gotten it into his brain that Phillip had once thought to join the ranks of naval officers.

  He howled, clumsily wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. “You cannot be serious, Albright! Rothembow abhorred the sea! Do you not recall when we escaped to France in ’20 that we feared he might be permanently affixed over the railing? The lad puked himself into a fevered delirium!”

  “No!” Adrian loudly disagreed. “That was most certainly Julian! Kettering couldn’t stomach a boat across the Thames!”

  “What, have you lost what was is left of your feeble mind? Julian was a frequent visitor to Southwark—across the Thames. Think hard, old chap, and you will recall the bit of trouble he got us into there.”

  Adrian frowned with concentration, and slowly, the light of his memory dawned on his face. “Ah yes … Kettering,” he said as a slow smile spread his lips. “The imbecile almost had us killed that night.”

  “Yes,” Arthur laughed. “That was Kettering. And you will recall that Rothembow was a bit green around the gills for the entire event.”

  Adrian sobered a bit, looked into his empty whiskey glass. “It seems another lifetime, does it not? I scarcely remember what Phillip looked like.”

  “I remember. I still see him so often in my dreams.”

  That brought Adrian’s head up. “Do you?” he asked quietly. “I can say that, thankfully, I have not dreamed of him since my son was born. I know it sounds rather strange, but I have often thought that Richard’s birth somehow freed him … or me.”

  Arthur said nothing, drained his whiskey. He would give anything to have his dreams free of Phillip, but he had a macabre suspicion that he would never be entirely free of him.

  “So there is nothing I can say that might change your mind?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “This foolish notion you have of going to London. You’ll not change your mind?”

  With a heavy sigh, Arthur put his glass down. “Tell me truly, Adrian, what choice do I have? My home … my life is in London. I made my choice the moment I took her from Scotland. I will now face the consequence of having done so. I just need time to think what to do, that’s all.”

  “God grant you the time then,” Adrian said on a sigh. “But it may already be too late.”

  Chapter Twenty

  LONDON, ENGLAND

  ARTHUR’S AUNT PADDY gave Kerry a thorough once-over as they stood in the cheerful morning room of his house on Mount Street. The bundle of tight ringlets over Paddy’s ears bounced like a child’s toy as she nodded her approval of the last gown the modiste was fitting to Kerry.

  “Absolutely perfect,” she chirped.

  “Absolutely,” agreed Lady Paddington’s constant companion, Mrs. Clark.

  Lady Paddington clasped her pudgy hands together and cocked her head to one side, squinting at Kerry. After a moment, she shook her head. “The hair, my dear. I’m afraid it simply won’t do.”

  That her hair was unsatisfactory hardly surprised Kerry—it was, after all, the only thing remaining that was truly her. Everything else had been hastily created in the last several days. A half-dozen new gowns from the finest dressmakers in London, drawers and chemises made of silk, slippers so delicate that she was afraid to walk in them—these new things replaced her sensible woolens, her sturdy shoes, her cotton undergarments.

  These things had replaced Kerry McKinnon—she hardly knew who she was anymore.

  “Please turn, madam,” the modiste said.

  “Yes, do turn! Let’s have a look from behind!” Mrs. Clark said.

  Her arms held perpendicular from her body, Kerry dutifully turned and let the women examine her for any defects as the modiste marked the hem.

  “Perhaps a lovely plum for a walking gown, do you think, Paddy? A lovely plum would so compliment her pale complexion, I should think.”

  “It’s true there isn’t as much sunshine in Scotland,” Lady Paddington quickly agreed, and Kerry looked heavenward for strength. She was beginning to despise her circumstance. It wasn’t that she wasn’t extremely grateful and humbled by Arthur’s generosity; the magnitude of his largesse shocked her, as did his wealth. The moment they had arrived in London—only a few days past, she reminded herself—he had immediately sent his butler, Barnaby, on a mission to bring modistes and milliners and purveyors of all things feminine to his magnificent home. And at first, she had been pleased; wearing Lilliana’s clothes made her feel like a poor relation. The finery was enticing—what fool wouldn’t have enjoyed the opportunity to wear such wonderful things?

  But as the number of gowns and shoes and hats and gloves began to mount, the more disturbed she became. The fine clothing, the furnishings, the people to do her slightest bidding were terribly alluring on a base level, but she was acutely aware that she had begun to resemble a woman she did not know. This, she thought miserably as she glanced down at the green-and-blue gown, was not Kerry McKinnon.

  This was a woman Arthur Christian could love, a woman who should be used to the best the world had to offer, worthy of such splendid attire. Oh, Arthur.

  It was so plainly obvious how very proud he was to give her such beautiful things. He beamed with joy each time he saw her in a new gown, all of them commissioned at a premium so that he might have them in days instead of weeks. And truthfully, it made her feel beautiful—every time he looked at her, she felt desirable, sensual, worthy of his affection—all the things she had never felt with Fraser.

  Yet no matter how much she enjoyed his attentions and the clothing and a world that glittered with crystal and gold and beeswax candles, she could not ignore the little voice inside her with the Scottish accent. The voice that reminded her she was a fraud, a woman more comfortable in coarse wool than silk.

  Even Arthur was different now. A perfect coif had replaced his thick, wavy long hair. Gone were the linen shirts and buckskins, replaced by silk waistcoats and neckcloths and fine woolen coats. His ruggedness was fast fading into the softness of the aristocracy.

  “If you would turn again, madam,” the modiste said.

  “Ooh, how very—”

  “Fetching!” Mrs. Clark interrupted.

  “Fetching!” Lady Paddington agreed.

  “There you are, madam. Does it meet with your approval?”

  Kerry dropped her arms and looked down. Of course it met with her approval. Aware that the women were waiting for her response, Kerry tried to find her voice, but to her horror, the bitter taste of tears welled in the back of her throat, and she could not speak for fear of suddenly weeping.

  Lady Paddington and Mrs. Clark exchanged a look; Lady Paddington looked at her again, her cheerful countenance soured. “I should hope you do indeed approve of the gown, Mrs. McKinnon, as I assure you, my Arthur paid quite handsomely for it!”

  “That is China silk!” Mrs. Clark added, folding her arms across her chest.

  The modiste peered up at her as if she might be ill. “Madam? Is there something not to your liking?”

  “No. I mean aye. I mean, I adore it, I do!” Kerry quickly assured them. “I didna mean to seem ungrateful, I suppose I’m a wee bit overwhelmed.”

  Lady Paddington’s expression softened. “Well of course you are, dear! And having come such a long way in a short amount of time, too! Mrs. Clark and I journeyed to Alnwick one summer—which, although in England, is really just the same as travelling to Scotland—”

  “Well not really the same,” Mrs. Clark interrupted Lady P
addington. “But very close by—”

  “Extremely close by!” Lady Paddington echoed, “and it took us one fortnight and four days plus!”

  “Aye,” Kerry said wearily, accepting the modiste’s hand to step down from the fitting stool. She allowed the modiste to undress her as Lady Paddington and Mrs. Clark prattled on at length about what sounded like an afternoon outing gone awry. As she let the modiste settle a blue-and-white-striped day gown over her head, Kerry wondered what it must be like to have so little to occupy one’s time that an afternoon trip could turn into a fortnight. How did these women move through their lives with nothing more than chatter?

  In London only a few days now, Kerry already felt as if she might claw her way out of her own skin. She was accustomed to working from sunup to sundown, tending to a house, and animals, and crops, and people. She was not accustomed to sitting and contemplating which gown should be worn to supper that evening. And as she was not allowed to leave Arthur’s home except for a daily walk in Hyde Park—“It’s the propriety of the thing, darling. A woman wandering about alone like that, well, really, it’s just not done”—there was nothing to keep her occupied, nothing but her thoughts of Scotland, Charles Moncrieffe, Thomas, May, and Big Angus.

  Lord God, what was she doing here?

  It was time, she thought numbly as the modiste tied a blue satin ribbon around her waist, to speak with Arthur. She could not continue this farce much longer.

  ————

  The moment Arthur arrived home that evening, Lady Paddington eagerly sailed out, informing her nephew as she did that she would be off to South Hampton on the morrow, and he therefore needed to be about the business of finding another chaperone. “This evening’s supper and opera are my last engagements until the Christmas season, you know.”

  “I know.”

  “I should hope so,” Lady Paddington said absently, as she tried to fit her hands into gloves that were far too small. “There is a bit of talk going around town. We really can’t have that.”

  “No, of course not.”

  “I daresay Alex will not be pleased when he returns from Sutherland Hall,” she added, and paused to check her ringlets in a large oval mirror.

  Arthur took her red velvet cloak from a footman. “Now, Paddy,” he said, holding the cloak out, “You know as well as I, Alex shall be delighted to make Mrs. McKinnon’s acquaintance.”

  “Oh! Of course!” the woman said, and shot a quick, sheepish glance at Kerry as she slid into her cloak. “Yes, of course he shall! I am merely making comment.”

  Arthur pulled the cloak around her throat and nodded at the footman. “You best be going now or you’ll be late for your supper with Mrs. Clark.” He pressed a kiss to her fleshy cheek.

  Lady Paddington blushed with pleasure. “Such a dear boy.” Her gaze flicked to Kerry. “Good evening, Mrs. McKinnon.”

  “Good evening, Lady Paddington,” Kerry responded, and presented an awkward curtsey, uncertain whether it was a proper moment for doing so or not.

  “Well then!” said Lady Paddington, and nodded to the footman to open the door. As she marched out, Arthur behind her, Kerry could hear her calling to the coachman to be quick and open the carriage door before she caught her death of cold.

  Arthur returned a few moments later, smiling sheepishly. “Forgive her. She is an old woman with some rather definite ideas.” He paused; his smile broadening. “Ah, my darling, how beautiful you are tonight.” He caught her hand and lifted it to his mouth.

  That warm, sweet flush she always felt when Arthur complimented her seeped through her skin so quickly that Kerry had to remind herself there were things that had to be resolved. But before she could say anything, Arthur caught her around the waist, began to lead her away from the foyer. “I’ve a surprise for you,” he said. “I know you have been missing Scotland.”

  With every breath, she missed it. “That is true,” she murmured.

  “Well then, we simply must do something about it, mustn’t we?” he asked as they walked into the salon.

  An uninvited, insane little hope suddenly invaded Kerry’s mind. Her heart began to beat a little faster; she quickly looked up, examining his expression, the hope becoming more absurd and larger as her imagination raced—

  He meant to take her home.

  He meant to take her home! Somehow, he had devised a plan that would allow her to return to Scotland! She abruptly pulled away from his embrace, twirling to face him. “I’m going home!”

  The puzzlement that washed over his expression instantly dashed her hope. “Oh, my love, I would not think of taking you back, not now, not under the circumstance! I think it will be a long while before we sort through your troubles, and until then, I wouldn’t allow you within a hundred miles of Scotland.”

  Her heart sank. Of course he wasn’t going to take her back. Her fear was quickly turning into a stark reality—she would never see Scotland again.

  Clearly confused by her reaction, Arthur watched her closely. She turned abruptly away from his watchful gaze, fell limply onto a chair and tried to catch her fool breath.

  “I am sorry, darling. I did not mean to imply that we … You understand that we cannot go to Scotland, do you not?”

  Oh, she understood all right. Understood so clearly that her heart felt leaden in her throat. “I … I doona know why I thought so.”

  “Kerry.” Arthur squatted down on his haunches beside her, and with a sad sigh, touched her cheekbone. “I know you miss Scotland. So do I.” He flashed a quick, wry smile and withdrew a small velvet box from his coat pocket and looked down at it in his hand. “When I saw this, it instantly reminded me of the blue morning mist in Glenbaden. And when I moved it, it fractured the light, and I could not help but see the heath, the green hills, the dark blue of the loch. But when I picked it up, it reminded me of a star. It reminded me of you—you are like a Scottish star I caught hold of in my hand.”

  Kerry gasped softly.

  “My hope is that you will think of Scotland every time you look at it.” He reached for her hand, turned it palm upward, and placed the box in it. “And when I look at it, I shall think of your eyes, the stars of Scotland.”

  What was in the box left her speechless—never in her life had she seen such a precious jewel. It looked to be a diamond, pale blue and about the size and shape of a robin’s egg. She had never seen anything like it; it hung from a simple braid of gold and was beveled all the way around so that light was refracted into every color on God’s earth. The gem was magnificent, worthy of a queen … not a poor widow.

  Kerry’s vision suddenly blurred; raw emotion filled her heart as quickly as the tears filled her eyes. His generosity was overwhelming. She did not deserve anything so fine, and it was inconceivable to her that a man of Arthur’s stature could believe that she did. She felt him take the box from her hand, felt his fingers brushing the bare skin of her neck as he fastened the necklace on her. The gem hung like a stone against her chest.

  “I canna take it. It’s too much, Arthur.”

  His hand moved over hers, squeezing tightly. “I’ve only begun, Kerry. Look here, feel it,” he said, lifting her hand to it around her neck. “This was made for you—it is Scotland, clear and beautiful and shining, just like you. No other woman could wear this stone, only you.”

  “I doona deserve this—”

  He suddenly clasped her face between his hands, forcing her to look up. “Never say that. You deserve the finest the world has to offer! You deserve this and much more! Oh God, Kerry, can’t you see what you have done to me? Can’t you see how much happiness your smile brings me? And if this brings even a hint of that smile, it is worth every farthing I have! I want you to have it!”

  How easily he banished every doubt, every worry from her head. Kerry suddenly threw her arms around his neck, burying her face in his collar and squeezing her eyes tightly shut so that she would not cry. Arthur laughed, the sound of it reverberating in his chest. With a quick tug, he to
ppled backward, pulling Kerry along with him, so that they were prone on the expensive Aubusson carpet, Kerry on top of him.

  Arthur groaned. “Now this, madam, will very quickly bring a smile to my face,” he teased her, and laughed into her mouth when Kerry kissed him with all that she had.

  They made fast, hard love on the carpet in the salon—neither showing any fear of discovery—then afterward arranged their clothes and hair as best they could and rang for tea.

  After the tea was drunk and the teacakes devoured—by Arthur, that was, as Kerry was too awed by the stone around her neck to eat—Arthur said, “I’ve spoken to Kettering and all is arranged, but I shall greatly miss these interludes.”

  “What?” she asked.

  Arthur smiled, casually told her what he had planned to ensure that she was properly chaperoned. She was to reside with the earl of Kettering.

  Kerry was immediately on her feet, pacing wildly, Arthur calmly watching her. “I willna go, Arthur. You canna ask me to—”

  “But you must. Sweetheart, you can’t know how it pains me to let you go, if even so close by, but I cannot allow you to remain under my roof without a proper chaperone. There is nothing else to be done for it—until Alex and my mother return from Sutherland Hall, there is really no one to see after your virtue.”

  “My virtue!” she fairly shrieked, and gave a shout of hysterical laughter. “My virtue is of no consequence! I willna go!”

  “Yes, you will,” he said as if discussing the weather. “I’m very sorry for it, but staying at Mount Street is impossible. Paddy was right—talk is already beginning to circulate among the ton. When I encountered Lord Enderby at the Tam O’Shanter earlier today, he inquired after my houseguest—don’t you see? For the sake of propriety—your propriety, you must go.”

  “Why should you care about propriety now, may I ask? We came all the way from Scotland with no regard for it!”