He dismounted with a grunt and stood next to her.
“I’m not sure how to convince you to listen to me. But let me start with a simple truth: I never forgot you or our time together.”
Julia had dreamed of those words. In the weeks, months, and years since Robeson had left, she’d pictured this scene: him coming to her, apologizing, and then saying he still cared for her, still remembered their plans from years past. Her imagined self always did one of two things here—either she laughed and rebuffed him, so that he would finally understand what he’d lost, or she threw herself into his arms and admitted that a small corner of her being had always remembered and perhaps reserved a bit of hope as well. Now she realized that neither option was viable. For one thing, he hadn’t said that he still cared about her, merely that he still remembered her. She let out a small huff of breath. “It’s been eight years, Lord Robeson—”
“Archie,” he interrupted.
Julia lowered her eyes. “I think I prefer to address you properly, my lord. If you don’t mind.”
Robeson stepped closer and had the temerity to reach for her chin, as if they were engaged in one of their long-ago arguments; he forced her face and gaze upward before saying, “You don’t still hold those thoughtless words against me, do you? I had just lost two brothers, a father. You had just rejected me, if you’ll remember. You, of all people, should understand what it’s like to deal with that kind of grief. I was mad with it. When you didn’t show up, it felt like everyone in the world had abandoned me.”
Julia looked into his eyes and remembered everything she’d told him about losing her own mother. How she’d wept for weeks and then, even years later, would tear up when her mother’s favorite sonata was played at a musicale or when she walked past a certain copse of flowers. She couldn’t decide, for a moment, whether she should be flattered that he’d remembered or annoyed that he’d used her feelings against her.
“I know what it’s like to grieve, yes. But you must think me a complete simpleton if you would have me believe that it was mere grief that made you say all you did. Nor was it your grief that kept you away these past eight years.”
A small flush stained Robeson’s cheeks, and he abruptly released her chin. “I could have returned, of course. But I had business, properties. There was much to do.”
She didn’t believe him. But she saw no benefit in provoking him.
“I understand,” she said.
“You don’t. But that doesn’t signify. I didn’t expect immediate forgiveness.”
Julia looked into his eyes and said quietly, “I didn’t realize you’d apologized.”
He broke eye contact and let out a small snort of laughter. “I haven’t. And I won’t. Not until you’re willing to listen to my side of the story.”
Julia sighed. She very much doubted that there was an explanation that could possibly suffice. “Is that what you want from me? To listen to your side of the story?”
“It would be a start.”
Julia was silent for a moment. “To what end?”
Robeson looked away, scanning the distant fields. “You could forgive me, and then . . .”
He trailed off, and Julia could tell from the way he was looking at her, the way he’d let himself trail off, that he was done speaking, for now. She drew in a deep breath and closed her eyes. It had been like this eight years ago as well. He’d flirted with her, he’d insinuated and hinted, without ever declaring himself. He’d even talked, initially, of other women and would compare them to Julia in a sideways fashion, complimenting and then criticizing, trying to mold her into his ideal. And she furiously tried to take every one of his suggestions. He’d waited until her infatuation for him had been startlingly clear, before . . .
No, she couldn’t go through that again. The self-recriminations. The doubt.
“You’re forgiven.”
“Just like that,” he snapped his fingers.
“Of course not just like that,” Julia said. She could hear the trace of bitterness in her voice and made herself take a deep breath before continuing. She turned, trying to focus her eyes on the unfolding sunrise, the filter of light through the dense clouds, the morning sounds that were routine to the countryside. She reminded herself that he wasn’t necessarily trying to start an argument, that perhaps he merely needed a sense of completion, as she’d often thought she did.
The chestnut whinnied, having been still for far too long. Julia gestured to the pathway in front of her, and they seemed to reach a tacit agreement that they could walk while they talked.
She decided finally that there was no point in subterfuge. It had never been her strong suit and never would be—more important, it just wasn’t who she was. Julia turned to look him in the eyes, noting that they were as crystal blue as they had ever been. She smiled a little, thinking about how angry Claire would be, that after all her methodical coaching about how to handle men in general, and this one in particular, Julia was still, at the end of the day, going to handle things in her normal, straightforward manner. “I was wrecked. Distraught and completely beside myself when you left. I’ve always thought that was such a silly, stupid phrase—how can you be yourself and also beside yourself? But it’s true. I blamed myself. I thought that if I’d only let you, that night . . .”
He stared at her intently and finally said, “I’ve never forgotten you.”
Julia wasn’t sure she believed him, but she remembered that Robeson had never responded well if he thought he was being challenged; it didn’t matter if he knew he was in the wrong. The one time she’d caught him in a lie, he’d been completely unreasonable. He’d half-apologized afterward but had insisted that his display of temper had been instigated by Julia’s tone, Julia’s questioning, Julia’s lack of trust. And really, what did it matter, now? If he truly still remembered her and thought of her fondly, wasn’t that a salve to her vanity Proof that something good could still be salvaged from their summer romance? And if he’d forgotten, then wasn’t he lying out of politeness? Offering it as a balm to past wounds?
His gaze held hers, and she finally said, “It’s been eight years since you were last here, which means I’ve had plenty of time to think about our relationship and move on.”
“And that’s what you’ve done. Move on?”
Julia was breathing heavily. So deeply that she could smell the scent he wore: a musky fragrance that was a little too heavy-handed for her taste. She half-smiled. Trust Archie to ignore all the emotions she’d just shared and focus merely on the part that affected him directly.
“What do you want from me?” she asked finally, wearily.
Robeson sighed, a bit dramatically, Julia thought, as though performing for an audience. “I never meant to hurt you. And you must know how painful it is, for me to hear how . . . affected, you were by my stupid, careless words. I was wild with grief at the time. All I could think about was what I’d just lost. A father who’d always been a pillar in my life, brothers that I had looked up to and had grown up with. You.”
Julia looked down, wanting to believe, yet not quite believing, everything he was saying. It sounded convincing, and of course there was a part of her that wanted to be convinced, to believe that the version of the past Robeson was presenting now was the truth. It would mean, at the very least, that he hadn’t rejected her. Not really.
And yet, Julia was older now. Older and, she hoped, at least a little wiser.
Death was always devastating and shocking, and she didn’t mean to diminish that, yet she couldn’t ignore the fact that it felt odd, and a little false, to hear him talk about them now, in retrospect, as if they’d become more dear to him in death than they had been in life.
Julia nodded, not wanting to challenge anything he was saying, and not wanting to intrude upon any of the stories he might have created for himself, to justify his behavior, since the time she’d known him.
Robeson continued, turning from her to give attention to his horse, so that it almost s
eemed as though he was talking to the animal, instead of her, “It’s ancient history, I suppose. And perhaps not as pertinent to the present as I thought.”
Julia sighed soundlessly. “If you ever want to talk about your father or brothers, I’d be happy to listen.” She was still the rector’s daughter, after all, and she had a duty, didn’t she?
Robeson chuckled and said, “No. The last thing I want is your sympathy or pity. That’s not what I—I guess what I’m really asking for here is . . . a second chance.”
Julia’s mouth opened a little, in spite of herself. This simply wasn’t who Robeson was: even before he’d become Robeson, Archie had always hated asking for anything, risking rejection.
“Why?”
“Nothing. Something. Who knows?”
Julia laughed; she couldn’t help herself. In all of her imaginings of this particular moment, she had never imagined that he might turn to her and say, “Who knows?”
“I don’t think it would be wise to go down that path, not again.”
“And that’s not what I’m suggesting. At least not right away. I’m not trying to re-create the past, or even start again where we’d last been. I sought you out because I still remembered the walks you like to go on, Sunday mornings, because I knew that I owed you an apology, even if you weren’t quite ready to hear it yet, and because, seeing you again, Jules, well, it’s reminded me of everything you meant to me, once. I know that it’s been eight years, and perhaps you’ll say that that’s eight years too late. Yet here you are, still unattached, and I too have yet to choose a wife. I’ll be in Munthrope for the entire summer, and maybe all I’m asking is that you stop freezing me out, as if I’m a stranger, unhappy that I’m even in the same town as you.”
“I? Freeze you out?”
“Don’t pretend you haven’t. You’ve avoided me rather assiduously. Chatting with the village outcasts at the picnic. Insinuating that it was unpleasant even to bump into me. It’s particularly obvious, given the amount of attention I’ve received from everyone else.”
Julia smiled a bit humorlessly, “And how do I know that’s not all you’re after? A complete set? All of the women of Munthrope at your feet?”
“Because you know me.”
Julia’s heart skipped a beat, in spite of herself. Was it true?
Robeson continued, “Eight years ago, no one else paid me the least attention. They only care now, because I’m a viscount. You cared for me . . . before. So whose attentions do you think I value more highly? All I’m asking is that you be slightly less contrary than you normally are, that you remember all that we once said and meant to each other.” When she stayed silent, he pressed on, “You fell in love with me when no one else knew I existed. Don’t tell me you’re now rejecting me simply because it’s once again against-trend.”
Julia thought about it, and let herself think about all the dreams and fantasies she’s buried deep within her. She gave her head a small shake, knowing that her already loose topknot was probably in even wilder disarray now. He was saying all the right things, but it was far, far too late. “I truly, genuinely, believe that the time for that has passed.”
“And if I’m not willing to accept that?”
Julia felt her eyes watering a little, despite all her many promises to herself never to show weakness or shed tears in front of this man—him, above all others. Everything sounded right, and yet . . .
“I don’t think so,” she whispered, even though a part of her wished she were giving a different answer, or at the very least, that he would challenge her rather wishy-washy refusal.
“But you’re not sure.”
Julia bit her lip. Was she? A few years ago, this would have been everything she’d ever hoped for. But she had changed since then, hadn’t she? “I don’t even know you anymore,” she said finally. This, at least, was the complete truth. She didn’t know this man, who slicked his hair back, who wore flossy fobs and pinned what looked like real jewels into the folds of his cravats. This man who was suddenly asking for a second chance, something she would never have thought the old Archie capable of.
“You do. Let me prove it to you.”
*
Robeson’s words were still in Julia’s mind a few short hours later, both during and after her father’s sermon.
All three of Munthrope’s current most eligible men sat still, outwardly attentive, throughout Mr. Morland’s service. The rest of the congregation on the other hand . . . Well, it was clear, even from Julia’s position in one of the front pews, that there was more shifting, whispering, and even giggling than was usual for a Sunday service focused on Job’s lamentations.
It was clear that the women of Munthrope were all jostling for a better angle, more direct access, to Robeson, Billings, and Mr. Alver (in that order). As the last lines of the closing hymn faded, the men were surrounded, flanked on all sides by ambitious mothers, their ogling daughters, and quite often, their almost comically lethargic, unwilling spouses and fathers.
Seeing the matronly women of Munthrope (all dressed, rather noticeably, more formally than a sleepy Sunday service would have otherwise warranted) flowing in and around the three men, crowding them, to the point where they could barely move from their seats, Julia was reminded once again of locusts. Hungry, swarming locusts.
Claire shot Julia a superior, I-told-you-so type of glance and rolled her eyes at the efforts of what her stepsister often deemed lesser mortals. Claire was, of course, used to being the one pursued, not the other way around. Even if she had been interested in any of the three currently waylaid bachelors, she would never have given any indication.
Julia had laughed at this and asked whether Claire was certain she wanted to wait, when there were Very Eligible Bachelors afoot, but Claire had shrugged daintily, saying, “There’s too much competition right now. I’ll bide my time.”
“Before you act?”
“Before I decide whether Lord Billings is interesting enough to warrant acting.”
Julia laughed while Claire continued to lecture in earnest: that matrimony was not something to be taken lightly, and also, not an undertaking for amateurs (which she had clarified, unasked, was the correct classification for almost every other female in Munthrope).
Now, Claire looped her arm through Julia’s, and the two made their way slowly outside, exchanging pleasantries and good-byes with the precious few people who weren’t approaching Robeson, Billings, or Mr. Alver. Though Julia let her gaze wander a couple of times, Claire steered her firmly and kept them moving swiftly away from the rest of the congregation.
“It’s better this way,” Claire said. She’d waved airily at her mother and stepfather and then escorted Julia home, as if not trusting her elder sister to behave herself, if left unsupervised.
“It’s not as if I’m really going to approach Robeson,” Julia had protested, as soon as they were out of earshot. Though his words were still ringing in her ears, she wasn’t sure she trusted herself to share any of the particulars with Claire, at least not yet.
“After the picnic, he’s not the one I’m worried about.” And, with that, Claire had gone upstairs for what she called some private sketching time. She’d refused to elaborate, only quipping that, as a woman of five and twenty, wasn’t it about time Julia made up her mind?
*
By Thursday, Charles was certain that Julia Morland was trying to avoid him.
He’d been quite pleased with himself after the picnic and had thought he’d intercepted several discreet glances both during and after the church service. Thus, when he set out at the normal time on Monday, he’d expected to find her more or less where he’d always did: somewhere between the lemon tree, the vicarage, and the clearly trod pathway that seemed to frame the outer part of Langley House.
Except there had been no sign of her Monday or Tuesday. On Wednesday, he’d gotten up earlier and had walked around longer, trying to meet her “accidentally,” and the closest he’d gotten? At the very end of his w
alk, he’d seen her from a distance entering the vicarage, after looking around furtively. He would have wagered money she’d been looking for him. Which begged the question: why was she avoiding him? After already establishing that they were both clearly creatures of habit, why would she suddenly alter hers? He could have chased after her, but that would have been exceedingly bad manners, and what was more, it would have made him appear desperate.
He shuddered. He was almost—almost—starting to feel sorry for Loretta, and all the other mistresses he’d discarded with nary a second thought. He wondered whether this was what it had been like for them when he’d started avoiding them. Though he had only avoided them after making it clear that the relationship was over and that attempts to further said situation would be futile.
He shook the thought aside. He was almost certain Julia would be at the Clark musicale Thursday night, and he saw no point in making himself a nuisance before then. He was tired of getting up earlier and earlier and of having to fabricate answers every time Robeson asked thinly veiled questions about how his days and mornings were progressing.
He’d sleep late Thursday and find a nice way to corner the damned girl and get some answers: the first of which would be, why the hell was she avoiding him?
Chapter 11
Julia hated musicales.
It wasn’t that she hated music. She’d spent a fair share of her time reading about artists, composers, and the creation of musical instruments. The construction of a violin, the way the corpus was made of two arched plates, the look and feel of the instrument, the way the strings were wound to allow for just the correct amount of tension—that, she found fascinating.
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