by Wendy Vella
“How many children do you have, Mr. Comber?” Julia asked then, not bothering to line up to continue the dance.
Stunned by the question, Alistair frowned. What had her so upset? “None, my lady,” he said with a shake of his head.
Julia took an involuntary step back. “None?” she repeated, as if she didn’t believe him.
“I have none,” he repeated with a shrug. “Of that, I am quite sure,” he reiterated, knowing he had been most careful with those he had been intimate with over the years.
Taking a deep breath, her heart suddenly beating in her ears, Julia stared at him. “And your wife?” she whispered.
Alistair’s eyebrows furrowed, wondering why she would have thought he had a wife. I kissed her. I wouldn’t have kissed her if I was married. “I don’t have one of those, either, my lady,” he said with a shake of his head. His brows still furrowed, he added in a whisper, “I would never have kissed you if I were married.”
Julia stared at Alistair, her eyes wide and her mouth open in surprise. “Then, who ... who was the woman that kissed you?” she asked in a hoarse whisper.
The music suddenly stopped as Lady Mayfield turned on the piano bench and regarded the couple as they engaged in a quiet discussion in the middle of the dance floor. When she caught Monsieur Girard about to interrupt, she held up a staying hand and gave him a stern shake of her head.
Confused, Girard took a step back and pretended not to watch his pupils as they spoke with their heads mere inches from one another.
Alistair reeled at Julia’s question. Kissed me? You did! he almost said. “No one kissed ..,” he started to say, and then stopped.
Mrs. Regan had kissed him, on the cheek, yesterday. After he’d given her the purse with the fifteen pounds to cover the lease on her meager apartment.
But if Julia knew about that kiss, then ... “You were in the old coach,” Alistair said suddenly, one finger coming up to wave at her. “With that chit who I caught watching me from an upstairs window,” he added, his voice becoming a bit louder with the accusation.
Julia’s face flushed a deep red. “I was,” she admitted with a nod, straightening herself so she stood as tall as possible, ready to defend her reason for being in the slums of London. “Lady Samantha and I were on an afternoon ride when we came upon you,” she stated, as if that explained why she was spying on him.
One of Alistair’s brows cocked up. “It’s a wonder that coach got you home!” he countered. “The wheels looked as if they could have come off at any time, leaving you and Lady ... Lady ... ”
“Samantha,” Julia finished for him.
“Lady Samantha stranded in one of the most dangerous parts of London!” he accused. Lady Samantha?
Julia gave a toss of her head. “But they didn’t. I made it home without incident,” she said, pushing her chest out toward him so that the snug bosom of her gown was even more snug.
Struggling to keep his eyes on hers and not on her tight gown, Alistair shook his head. “You followed me,” he accused suddenly.
Julia crossed her arms, causing her bosom to become even more apparent. “Only a man with your ego could believe that,” she countered with an arched eyebrow. Her eyes were blazing, her face was flushed in a most becoming manner, and she was about to burst out of her gown. It took all of Alistair’s resolve not to pull her into his arms and kiss her senseless right then and there.
“And only a chit would jump to such a ridiculous conclusion that I would have a wife when, in fact, the woman who kissed my cheek,” he said in clipped tones, “Was the widow of one of the men who served with me in the war. I was giving her money to pay her rent,” he stated loud enough so that both Lady Mayfield and Monsieur Girard could hear.
Julia stood with her mouth open, her eyes wide, staring at the groom. “Widow?” she repeated in a small voice. I didn’t figure on any explanation like this, she considered as she felt a bit light-headed.
“Michael Regan and I were serving in Belgium when he died. I promised him I would see to his widow,” Alistair murmured in a quieter voice, his eyes no longer on Julia. “And his children,” he whispered with a shrug.
Julia swayed, her breathing shallow as a gray cloud covered her sight. “Oh,” she managed to get out before she suddenly swayed and then fainted.
Alistair caught Julia before she had made it halfway to the floor. Lifting her into his arms, Alistair dared a glance at her face and wondered at the look of relief that seemed to appear just before she passed out.
From her vantage at the piano-forté, Lady Mayfield had paid witness to the entire exchange, at once amused by her daughter’s behavior and appalled that Julia would apparently follow Alistair Comber into the Seven Dials. She slowly rose from the bench and made her way to Alistair, who stood staring at the woman he held in his arms.
“She is a bit headstrong,” Temperance Harrington said in a quiet voice. “But, well, you two seem to suit one another quite well, don’t you agree?” she said hopefully.
Alistair’s head turned as he regarded the lady of the house. “My lady?” he said with a bit of confusion.
Lady Mayfield merely smiled. “Let’s take her up to her bedchamber, shall we?” she said as she made her way to the ballroom doors. “Good day, Monsieur Girard,” she said as she gave the dance master a half-curtsy and made her way out of the ballroom, her words a clear dismissal of the dance master.
Surprised by Lady Mayfield’s comments, Alistair gave a nod in the dance master’s direction and followed Lady Mayfield as he carried Lady Julia up the curved staircase to the second floor.
“My lady, I do not know what I said to cause Lady Julia’s distress,” Alistair whispered as they reached the top of the stairs.
Lady Mayfield gave him a smile as she glided down the hall and paused in front an ornately carved door. “I rather doubt it was anything you said,” she replied lightly as she opened the door. “But rather how tightly her maid tied her corset strings.”
Alistair’s head popped up—he’d been gazing at Julia since they reached the top of the stairs—and his face displayed a sudden flush of red. Had Lady Mayfield caught him admiring Julia’s décolletage? Her collarbones? The hollow of her throat? Her full lips, pale and slightly apart and looking ever so kissable?
“Put her on the bed and hold her up, won’t you? I’ll see to loosening her corset,” Lady Mayfield stated as she moved to the other side of the bed.
Alistair stood holding Julia, not quite sure if he had heard her instructions correctly. “My lady?” he whispered hoarsely.
Lady Mayfield planted both of her fists on her hips. “Really, Mr. Comber. I’m sure you must have some experience with undressing young ladies,” she said with a glint in her eye.
His mouth dropping open, Alistair shook his head. “I am most sure I do not,” he countered, thinking he hadn’t even undressed the widow he bedded before leaving for the Continent. But seeing Lady Mayfield’s impatience, he moved to place Julia onto her bed.
He was about to pull his arm from behind Julia’s head when Lady Mayfield said, “Now sit her up, won’t you?”
Alistair complied, which required him to sit on the edge of the bed whilst he held Julia’s head against his shoulder. When Lady Mayfield leaned over and began undoing the buttons down the back of Julia’s gown, Alistair looked away, but not before he caught a whiff of lilies. Inhaling, he turned his head so his nose was mere inches from her hair. The scent filled his nostrils, reminding him of their time in the stables, when Julia had come to kiss him. He had to resist the urge to take a deep breath. What if Julia woke up this instant? he wondered. Would she be appalled to find her head nestled into the small of his shoulder? She would probably gasp and scream and pound
her fists against his chest.
Or, perhaps she wouldn’t.
For some reason, the thought of her pounding her fists against his chest brought a smile to his face. He rather doubted she had the strength to do him any harm. And what would h
er response be when he simply grasped her small hands in his and stilled them? If she were to put voice to her protest, he could simply lower his lips to hers and silence her with a kiss.
Closing his eyes, he imagined what it would be like to have her in his arms whenever he wanted her there. In the morning, when the sun was just barely above the horizon, or in the early afternoon, should they retire to a bedchamber for a nap, or in the evening, when the only light came from the moon and stars.
“You can put her down now.”
Alistair jerked his head up from where it had come to rest on Julia’s. Lady Mayfield stood watching him from the other side of the bed, her head cocked to one side and an expression of sadness on her face. “She’ll come out of it in a moment,” she said quietly.
“Yes, my lady,” Alistair replied as he nodded and moved to place Julia’s head on her pillow. Lady Mayfield had obviously loosened the strings of Julia’s corset and even refastened her gown, but Alistair had been unaware of her doing so. And she’d obviously seen him with his eyes closed as his head settled onto Julia’s. Although, she probably thought I closed them so I wouldn’t see anything I wasn’t supposed to, he reasoned. He could only hope that was the case.
Alistair gave a nod to Lady Mayfield. “I do hope she recovers,” he said quietly. As he moved toward the door, he added, “I must be getting back to the stables, my lady.”
“Of course, Alistair,” Lady Mayfield replied with a nod as she watched the earl’s son give her a leg and then take his leave of the room.
She allowed herself the satisfaction of a smile as she remembered the look on the groom’s face when she had ordered him to hold up her daughter on the bed. The way he had gingerly sat on the edge of the bed and then pulled Julia up, the way he had cradled Julia’s head against his shoulder, the way he had closed his eyes as if he might see something he wasn’t supposed to—it had all been so innocent, so touching, and yet so ... inappropriate.
How much longer until he asks for her hand? she wondered as she turned her attention back to Julia. To have her settled with the earl’s son would be a dream come true, although she didn’t know if Julia shared that same dream ... yet. Open your eyes, the countess almost said aloud. She was sure Julia was awake.
Julia dared to take a deeper breath, hoping her mother wouldn’t notice. Her eyes still closed, she thought of how it had felt to be in the groom’s arms. She was sure she could still smell his slight scent of musk, feel the warmth of his arms as they held her up, revel in the thought that her cheek was pressed against his shoulder and hope that he was the one who had undone the buttons down the back of her gown. But since her mother was in the room, she rather doubted Mr. Comber would have been allowed the honor. And, yet, she allowed him to hold me, she realized with a bit of surprise.
And why did I faint in the first place? Julia wondered suddenly. The image of her lady’s maid in the cheval mirror came to mind. Mary had tightened her corset that morning the same way she always did, except when Julia mentioned she had a dance lesson with the groom, Mary suddenly tugged the strings tighter.
Too tight, Julia realized. No wonder I had such a time keeping up with the dance. I could barely breathe.
“Open your eyes.” Julia opened her eyes and found her mother staring down
at her. “My corset,” she started to say.
“Has been loosened,” Temperance finished for her. “You’ll want to remind Mary that you need to breathe, my darling,” she said with an arched eyebrow. She sat down on the edge of the bed. “How are you feeling?”
Staring at the fabric of the canopy above her, Julia shrugged. Alive, she thought suddenly. As if the mere touch of a man had awakened senses in her she didn’t know existed. Bereft, for the strong arms that had carried her to this room were no longer wrapped around her, and she felt the loss as if something she loved had died.
“I am fine,” she whispered, reaching out a hand to grasp onto one of her mother’s. “Although, I made a cake of it, didn’t I?” she said with a hint of derision, remembering a bit of what had made her so short of breath there at the end.
Temperance shook her head. “You were doing just fine until ... well, until whatever topic came up that had you and Mr. Comber nose to nose,” she chided gently.
Julia’s eyebrows cocked up. “Nose to nose? I hardly reach his neck!” she replied with a grin. The humor in her face disappeared, though, when she recalled the rest of what it was that had the two of them at odds on the dance floor. “He’s not married,” she said quietly.
“No, he’s not,” her mother agreed with a shake of his head. “Do you have someone in mind for our Mr. Comber?” she wondered, reaching over to push a lock of hair off of Julia’s cheek.
Julia stared at her mother. What would make her ask such a thing? “Did you ... did you know you would marry Father when you met him?” she asked. “Was he already an earl back then?”
Temperance regarded her daughter for a few moments before deciding how to respond. “He was a viscount, but I ... I admit I considered another first,” she said carefully. “But, I have never regretted marrying your ...”
“Who?” Julia asked as she sat up on the bed, her eyes wide. My mother loved another! “Was he a commoner?”
Angling her body away from Julia, Temperance seemed to consider how best to answer. “Of course not. Lord Trenton was already an earl. He ... he seemed to favor both Cousin Charity and me, but it was apparent after a time that he preferred Charity,” she explained, not adding that she had discovered the two in her bedchamber when she returned from a ball. They had taken their leave the hour before, although not at exactly the same time.
Julia shook her head. “I cannot imagine you married to that ... beast,” she murmured. “Poor Charity ...”
“Charity knew what she was doing,” Temperance said quickly. “She wanted to be a countess, and once he had bedded her, and she carried his babe, she made sure he met her at the altar.”
Her eyes wide, Julia sat shaking her head. “Gabriel?” she whispered, remembering how she thought he might one day be her husband. A wave of relief washed over her.
At one time she would have welcomed her second cousin’s amorous attentions, but not now. Not now that she’d heard the on-dit and realized he might marry her only to see that her father was made out to be a fool in Parliament.
Temperance nodded. “He’s the poor one in all of this,” she said with a sigh. At Julia’s look of disbelief, she added, “He lost his brother because his father thought the babe was a bastard. He lost his uncle because his father thought—erroneously— that the man was the babe’s father. He watched his mother being beaten ... just because.” She rolled her eyes and looked away, blinking back tears.
Julia covered her mouth with a hand. “I didn’t know ... I didn’t know any of this,” she said from behind her hand.
“And I only tell you now so that you have some perspective,” Temperance said gently. “Do not be hasty in assuming too much or too little of someone. Especially when it comes to a husband. Your Father might demand you marry an aristocrat, but I will not be so strict in my expectation,” she explained before she leaned over and placed a kiss on Julia’s head.
“Are you telling me to consider Gabriel as a husband?” Julia wondered, imagining her cousin in a whole new light.
A smile split her mother’s face. “No, my dear,” she replied with a shake of her head. “Although, he is rather handsome,” she added with a sigh.
“And rich,” Julia stated with an arched brow. She closed her eyes and remembered the ride in the park. Lord Trenton had attempted to flirt with her, she was sure. But his manner didn’t suggest he did so with an intent to court her. Nor did she think she could consider him for matrimony. No matter how rich he was.
So where did that leave her?
Pining for a man who was a groom in her father’s stables! “Mr. Comber is rather handsome,” she hinted then, wondering why her mother had steered the conversation to includ
e talk of other men.
“Indeed,” Temperance agreed, her face suddenly lighting up. “And well-mannered, and well-spoken, and an excellent horseman and ...”
When she paused, Julia glanced up at her. “What else?” she prodded, surprised her mother would be espousing the attributes of a groom.
At that moment, Temperance Harrington almost— almost—told Julia the truth about Alistair Comber. But she thought of what might happen between now and the ball and thought better of it. “He’ll make an excellent gentleman,” she finished with a shrug.
Julia smiled. “Thank you, Mother,” she replied before giving her mother a hug. “I do hope so.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Lady Trenton Takes Her Leave
Charity Wellingham, Countess of Trenton, had to admire the haste in which the inn’s stableboy and groom had seen to her coach-and-four. Why, to make the request that she be ready to leave the inn within ten minutes of the mail coach’s departure would have had any other coaching inn giving her excuses, but not the hard-working men at the Spread Eagle. She had to admire how the two, along with the inn’s owner, nearly tripped over themselves to do her bidding.
The thought that they did so because they worked for an inn manager who commanded that level of service suddenly crossed her mind. Miss Cumberbatch was to be commended for what she had done with the Spread Eagle. She obviously had devoted employees, she had probably seen to the upgrade of the property, and she had managed to give birth to an adorable child and was raising him as if he was her nephew. She would make a good countess, Charity realized, wondering if she was doing the right thing by her son.
Tricking the young woman who was looking after the babe had been a bit difficult. The loyal servant, Margery, was in the same room as Gabe. Having just changed his nappy and settled him into his crib, Margery was straightening the room when Lady Trenton breezed in and requested a moment to play with Gabe. The countess dropped her valise next to the threshold as she made her plea.