Loving Julia

by Karen Robards

  She looked up at that. “In the library?” She was confused. Why could he possibly want to see her in the library so early in the morning?

  He paused on his way to the door. “Oh, did I forget to mention it? The estimable Mrs. Thomas just gave notice. She, uh, no longer feels capable of teaching you. Until a replacement can be found, I propose to assume the role of your instructor.”

  “You?” Words failed Jewel. The haughty Earl of Moorland teach a little guttersnipe—his words!—to be a lady? The idea was laughable, if she wasn’t afraid he was serious.

  “Why not? I thought it might prove amusing.” And with that he went out the door, pausing to say over his shoulder, “I’ll send your maid to you. She can help you to bed.”

  XIV

  During the rest of that spring and summer, Jewel Combs gradually all but disappeared. Her place was slowly, painfully, but in the end thoroughly taken by Julia Stratham, who was (nearly) every inch a lady.

  Under Sebastian’s implacable guidance Jewel even began to think of herself as Julia. In the mornings when she sat before her dressing table mirror while Emily brushed her hair, it was Julia she saw looking back at her: Julia with the smooth white skin and soft pink mouth, Julia with the slanting black eyebrows (expertly shaped now so that they gave her appearance a touch of the exotic instead of being merely bushy) above golden eyes to which health and happiness had added a vibrant sparkle, Julia with the thick glossy hair the color of ebony, Julia with the feminine curves that filled out the hated black dresses so that they really didn’t look so drab after all. It was Julia who read the books Sebastian gave her and gravely discussed them with him later; it was Julia who curtsied and pirouetted for his approval; it was Julia who listened attentively to all he could tell her about the ways of the world he had inhabited since birth. It was Julia who learned to look on Sebastian as the family she had never had; friend, father, brother, and mentor all rolled into one gorgeously wrapped package, an omnipotent being who could make her laugh with a wry lift of his eyebrows, or explode her still hasty temper with a teasing remark. It was Julia whom he could reduce to shamed silence with no more than a frosty look, and it was Julia who strictly monitored her behavior so that it would please him. Because she wanted to please him badly. Sebastian had become far and away the most important person in her life.

  Julia was good for Sebastian, too. The servants remarked on it to her, each in his or her own different way. Mrs. Johnson said with her customary bluntness that she had never seen the master so uncharacteristically good-humored. Johnson smiled the first smile Julia had ever seen crease his face as he said that he would be canceling that standing order for quarterly shipments of French brandy that he had placed with the neighborhood supplier. The last order they had got in was still practically untouched, the first time in years it had lasted so long. Leister hummed snatches of popular songs as he went about his duties; such light-mindedness (according to Mrs. Johnson) was unheard of in the proper gentleman’s gentleman. Emily reported that the kitchen was agog at the length of time the earl had remained at White Friars. Usually he just stayed for a few weeks, and then he was off again to the Lord only knew where.

  To Julia, lost in the halcyon glow of a burgeoning happiness, Sebastian was transformed by infinitesimal degrees from someone of whom she had to beware to the most marvelous being in the world. He bossed her, of course, and scolded her when he felt she needed it, which was frequently, but underneath it he treated her with a careless affection that was manna to her love starved soul. In return she nearly worshipped him, and he blossomed under the admiration that shone from her eyes. Like herself, she thought, he was hungry for love.

  He was tireless in working to transform her into the lady he wished her to be, imparting to her much more than the fundamental tenets of gentility. From him she learned intangibles such as the usefulness of icy silence and a steady stare in the face of an impertinence, or the value of a haughtily raised eyebrow when it came to depressing pretensions. Not that he ever told her these tricks in so many words, but he used them himself with great success. And Julia almost unconsciously absorbed Sebastian’s mannerisms like a sponge.

  Much against her will, he even taught her to ride. Julia had quickly learned that saying no to Sebastian was of about as much use as spitting into the wind. Without much more persuasion than a single cool look he managed to get her into a riding habit and upon the back of an enormous beast named Bess.

  Despite Sebastian’s assurances that the creature would not hurt so much as a fly, Julia was terrified. Every time the horse’s ears twitched she was sure she would be treated to a rampaging ride over the heath that would very likely end in her death. She wanted to scream, to cry, to throw herself from the animal’s back and hug the ground, refusing ever again to leave it. But in the face of Sebastian’s calm instructions as to how to sit and hold the reins, she didn’t quite dare. Instead, miserably, she released her death grip on the horse’s mane and took the reins in her shaking hands. She even managed to stay on while Sebastian led the animal around the paddock, though she did grab the front of the saddle for balance—but only when Sebastian was not looking.

  When at last he pronounced the lesson concluded and reached for her, she slid into his arms like a homing pigeon to its nest. He had to support her into the house because her knees were shaking so badly that they wouldn’t bear her weight. But Julia didn’t care. She leaned against Sebastian’s sheltering body, greedily absorbing his warmth and strength, her face wreathed in smiles. She had done it, she had learned to ride a horse and pleased Sebastian, and she was enormously proud of herself—until he casually mentioned that they would repeat the lesson the next day.

  At that she protested. She could not, would not go through that ordeal again. But she did. Day after disastrous day, until at last even Sebastian had to admit defeat: despite all his efforts, she could just barely manage to stay aboard when the horse walked. If it moved into a faster gait—such as, God forbid, a slow trot—she was finished. With the best will in the world, she slid from the saddle every time to land in a disheveled heap on the ground. Finally even Sebastian had had to concede; Julia Stratham would never be a rider.

  With considerably more success he taught her to dance, counting off the measures with imperturbable patience as she awkwardly stepped all over his feet. His tight hold on her waist and the closeness of the hard warmth of his body made her tingle from head to toe, and she quite enjoyed these lessons. If every once in a while she had a sneaking memory of the shattering quality of his kisses when her gaze chanced on his mouth or his body brushed too closely against hers, he seemed to have no such recollection. His attitude toward her verged on the avuncular, and it nettled Julia from time to time. But then she would tell herself that it was just as well; Sebastian could never be such a good friend if he were constantly trying to be her lover. And by now his friendship had become as necessary to her as the air she breathed.

  Once she got over being embarrassed about treading on his polished boots, going into his arms for their dance session became the highlight of her day. She loved being held so close to him, loved being cradled in his arms. Once she wondered with a little quiver of surprise if she was so vulnerable to physical closeness because she had been deprived of it as a child. Even when her mother had been alive, she had had very little time for Jewel. But the unpleasantness of her past was behind her now. She was no longer Jewel but Julia, and when Sebastian held her in his arms she was the happiest creature in the world.

  As they danced he would hum the lilting tunes in a surprisingly melodious voice, while at the same time admonishing her not to watch her feet or count the steps out loud. After she finally succeeded in complying with both these instructions at once, he waltzed her out of the music room, whirling her in his arms down the length of the great hall until she was laughing and breathless. He pronounced himself marginally satisfied. She was a very graceful dancer indeed, and if she would just learn not to look as if she were counting of
f the steps under her breath she would be an asset to any ballroom.

  It seemed as though half the staff stopped what they were doing to watch this impromptu performance. Julia, laughing merrily as she leaned against the wall trying to catch her breath, thought she had never seen so many smiles at White Friars since she had arrived there. Up on the minstrel’s gallery, from behind the shelter of an enormous tapestry, Julia caught a glimpse of the one spectator who was more important than all the rest put together: Chloe. Her small pale face pressed to the railings, she stared down at the commotion below, easily identified because of her size and her silver-gilt hair. But before Julia could bring Chloe’s presence to Sebastian’s attention, the child vanished. And looking at Sebastian’s laughing face, she decided that no purpose would be served by reminding him of his daughter and her estrangement from him.

  This was the one area he steadfastly refused to discuss with her. As she had become comfortable with his seeming fondness for her, and grown relatively certain that some misplaced word of hers would not cause his friendship to be withdrawn, Julia, with what she considered praiseworthy tact, urged him to interest himself in his only child. After all, Chloe was only six years old, and she needed her father more than ever since her mother’s passing. As an orphan herself, Julia could well understand the desolation Chloe must be suffering.

  Sebastian steadfastly refused to discuss the subject. He coldly thanked her for her concern, but told her he would appreciate her more if she put his private affairs from her mind. In saying all this, he was so much the icily distant earl she had first met that she feared to bring up the subject again.

  But she could not banish it from her mind. Julia could not reconcile his indifference toward his daughter with what she had come to know of him. With her he was patient and tolerant, a charming companion and knowledgeable mentor. Why should he turn so reticent when faced with the daughter who was his own mirror image?

  Impromptu picnics were one of the best parts of that summer. Julia thought that some of her happiest times were when Sebastian drove her in a small trap he kept about the place—they tacitly agreed that Julia would not have to ride one of the despised horses—to some picturesque spot where they dined on the excellent lunch provided by Henri the cook. Afterwards they would lie about on the grass, and drowse and talk. During one such occasion Julia regretted aloud that Chloe could not be a part of these expeditions. Sebastian sat up abruptly, a displeased frown settling over his face.

  “She is better off with her nanny,” he said sharply. Julia, with one look at his tightening face, said no more. His aversion to his daughter’s company seemed inexplicable, but there was nothing she could do to change it without bringing his wrath down upon herself.

  Still, she kept her eye out for the child, and was rewarded by finally getting a chance to make her acquaintance formally one bright day in early September. Sebastian had gone riding, and Julia was perforce at loose ends. She decided to go for a walk and encountered Chloe and her nursemaid taking their exercise near the lane.

  “Good afternoon.” Julia smiled at the nanny, who was tightly clasping her charge’s small hand in her own.

  “Good afternoon, miss.” The nanny’s name was June Belkerson, Julia remembered as the woman returned her smile a little stiffly. Julia transferred her attention to Chloe, whose head continued to be stubbornly averted. Clad in a dainty white frock sprigged with flowers the exact shade of her eyes, with her silver-gilt hair tied with a blue ribbon and left to tumble in loose curls down her back, Chloe was as beautiful a child as Sebastian was a man. It was incomprehensible that he could not feel intense pride in so lovely a daughter. Chloe steadfastly refused to look up, so Julia crouched down before her and tried to meet her eyes.

  “Good afternoon, Chloe. Do you remember me?” The child made absolutely no response either by word or the slightest change of expression. The lovely little face, so perfect a miniature of Sebastian’s, might have been made of porcelain for all the emotion it showed.

  “She doesn’t talk, miss.” Miss Belkerson sounded impatient. Julia, surprised, glanced up.

  “Why ever not?”

  Miss Belkerson shrugged. “She hasn’t said a word ever since I’ve been here, which is close on to two years now. Doctors have been to see her, and say there’s nothing wrong with her. She just won’t talk. Because of her mother maybe, they say. A trauma resulting from the loss of her mother.”

  “Perhaps she doesn’t have anything to say.” Julia didn’t know if she were more appalled at the idea of a child bearing so much grief that she could not speak or by the insensitivity of discussing the subject in front of her. With a pointed look at Miss Belkerson, whose plump, placid face looked kindly but none too intelligent, she added, “I presume she can hear?”

  “She can hear all right. She minds real good, most of the time. But she’s got this thing for running off, so I got to keep my eye on her real close. Drives me crazy sometimes, trying to find her. But so far she’s come to no harm, and I can’t watch her twenty-four hours in a day even if I wanted to.”

  Julia looked down at Chloe again without replying. The little girl was staring into the distance, giving no indication that she had heard so much as a syllable of the adults’ conversation.

  “I’d like us to be friends, Chloe,” Julia said softly, crouching down to the child’s eye level again. There was no reply, and after a moment Julia straightened.

  “She’s always like that, miss. But she heard you. Well, if you’ll excuse us, it’s time for Miss Chloe’s nap. She always naps after our walk.”

  “Certainly.” Julia watched as Miss Belkerson led Chloe away. What she had learned made her ache with pity for the child. How could Sebastian be such a monster as not to love her? It was so unlike what she had come to know of him.

  Later that day, when dinner was done and she had joined Sebastian in the library as was now their custom, Julia’s mind was still preoccupied with Chloe. Sebastian had to concern himself with the poor mite, and she seemed to be the only one who might be able to push him to do it.

  “Sebastian,” she began hesitantly as she sipped her tea and looked at him over the chessboard between them. He was determined to teach her the game, telling her that it would greatly improve her mind. Never mind that his efforts were not proving very successful; he refused to abandon the attempt. Several nights a week he set up the chessboard and spent the evening growing increasingly exasperated as Julia either could not or would not learn to play.

  “That rook cannot move in that direction,” he said grittily as she sat admiring the way his hair gleamed in the lamplight. Julia, who had forgotten that she even held the piece in her hand, absently moved it to a square in the opposite direction.

  “For God’s sake, you can’t move it there either! Julia, for an intelligent young woman, you are remarkably stupid about chess.”

  Julia’s head came up at that. “Well, my lord, you are remarkably stupid about some things, too.” She glared at him over the chessboard, and he returned her look with the icy lift of his brows that he knew annoyed her beyond anything.

  “Indeed?”

  As he grew colder, she invariably grew hotter. She was positively sputtering now, forgetting in her surge of temper that she had meant to introduce the subject of Chloe tactfully. Diplomacy was wasted on him anyway, she told herself as the words tumbled off her tongue.

  “Yes, indeed! And do you want to know one of the many things you are remarkably stupid about?”

  “I am sure you are about to enlighten me.”

  “Your daughter! Yes, Chloe! She’s a lovely little girl and she’s only six years old and she’s lost her mother. How can you be so unfeeling as to deny her her father too?”

  His eyes had chilled over until they resembled frozen blue lakes. “As I’ve told you repeatedly, I refuse to discuss the subject.” That meant that he was really angry, as Julia had learned from experience. Far from frightening her into caution, the knowledge fanned the flames of her
own temper.

  “She’s your daughter, for goodness’ sake. Your own flesh and blood! How can you be so cruel to her? She’s just a child, and she needs your love. Why you are selfishly withholding it is totally beyond me.”

  “You are right. My reasons are beyond you. Beyond anything you can imagine, and I refuse to discuss them.”

  His eyes were blazing with an icy blue light that made them glitter like diamonds in the glow of the lamps. His words were as frozen as his eyes. He was very much the earl suddenly, despite the fact that he wore only a shirt and waistcoat and breeches as was his habit in these after dinner hours. Even without his coat and cravat, he looked every inch the aristocrat, but Julia refused to be cowed. She was no longer Jewel Combs, ignorant guttersnipe. She was Julia Stratham, his creation maybe but also his equal and his friend. She sincerely cared about his well-being and that of his daughter, and that gave her the right to probe into an area that he obviously preferred be left alone.

  But perhaps she should try another approach. Direct confrontation was very rarely, if ever, successful with Sebastian, as she had learned by painful trial and error. Perhaps she could reason with him, make him see the error of his ways. She took a deep breath.

  “Sebastian, don’t you love Chloe?”

  “I refuse to discuss this subject.”

  “She needs you, Sebastian. You are her father, after all. Do you know she has screaming nightmares at night? Do you know that she runs away from her nursemaid sometimes and disappears for hours? Do you know where she goes when she runs away? I do, Sebastian.”

  “Stop it, Julia!” He jumped to his feet, overturning the chessboard in his agitation. All the pieces went flying and the board clattered to the floor. His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides as he stood glaring down at her. A vein throbbed angrily in his neck, and a deep tide of red suffused his face. He looked murderous suddenly, and Julia had a fleeting picture of Elizabeth’s sweet face. Was that why he could not face his daughter? She immediately banished the suspicion, but that it had appeared at all galvanized her. There had to be another reason for his avoidance of Chloe. There had to be.