“As you might suppose, he is much older than Beatrice.” His voice softened. “She was so very young.” He leaned back in his chair and rested his folded hands across his middle. “Though he was a relatively young man in his early thirties at the time. He was involved in an accident when in town, which is how he came into my clinic and they met.”
A brief knock sounded at the door before it opened and his assistant leaned in to say, “I am sorry to interrupt, Mr. Meyer, but we’ve an emergency case and need your help.”
Tristan stood. “We have taken enough of your time, Mr. Meyer. Thank you for your help. We shall leave for Boarhunt as soon as we are able.”
Julia stood and curtsied to him and echoed his sentiments. “You cannot know how grateful I am for your care of my sister in her time of need. Thank you.”
JULIA MOUNTED THE INN stairs in a daze of mixed emotions. Beatrice was alive. Despite all that happened to her, despite all that polite society declared, Beatrice was a respectable wife. Julia’s pulse leapt with excitement before reality intruded. Julia’s fantasies of living together with her sister no longer fit. Julia might be an unwelcome reminder all the trauma of France as well as the way she was thrust into the life that she’d endured. What if her sister wanted no reminders of any sort from her past? What if...? Too many formless questions swirled now that she neared the end of her search.
Overwhelmed by the turn of events, when Tristan suggested they wait until morning to begin the final leg of their journey, she felt as though a great load had been lifted from her shoulders. She needed to absorb it all. She shifted her gaze to the silent man beside her in the carriage and realized she wanted another day in Tristan’s company. Once she reunited with her sister, he would leave and they would have no reason to meet again. That probability weighed her down more than she expected, and left her feeling empty.
She wasn’t ready for him to go. She had become used to his companionship. She liked his droll sense of humor and penchant for telling her stories that made her laugh. He made her feel safe when walking the boisterous streets along the dock. He sent licks of heat through her body when he looked at her. He made her feel alive.
CHAPTER 28
Their first glimpse of Boarhunt came into view by early afternoon. A church of flint and rubble construction stood apart from the whitewashed, thatched homes scattered through the village. A hill rose to the north and Julia suspected the view from the top provided a breathtaking vista of the broad, green pastures.
The familiar scent of wild grasses and spring flowers replaced the brine of the port towns. Across various meadows, flocks of sheep clustered together and the bleating of lambs mixed with birdsong. When they reached the central square of Boarhunt, they found it to be little more than a crossroad with its Saxon styled church at the end of the square.
In addition to the church, Boarhunt housed a small public house and a blacksmith shop. Julia recognized signs of a farmer’s marketplace beside the town square. Tristan directed the carriage to the church and Julia waited while the vicar gave him directions to the squire’s home.
As they left the village green Julia said, “If she is agreeable, I should like to stay for a few days while we get to know one another again.”
Tristan nodded his agreement, but made no additional comment. On the drive to Boarhunt Tristan had regaled her with tales of his first days in the country and the shock of silence and open spaces. He talked about how he’d lain awake most nights listening to the strange lack of carriages, watchman cries of All’s well, and other city sounds he knew so well.
He laughed when he told her that the call of an owl had sent him from his bed in the middle of the night, sure that someone had spoken outside his window. He swore the chirp of crickets had threatened his sanity and admitted snakes gave him the willies—though he would deny it if she ever told anyone.
She knew he tried to distract her from her thoughts, which swung from giddy anticipation to the terror of rejection. Her life had changed so much in such a short time and his stories let her know she wasn’t the only one who had ever faced upheaval. She recognized his attempt to take her mind off her uncertainties and loved him all the more for—loved? Dear Lord, no. She appreciated his efforts.
She turned her gaze to him in alarm. He attracted her, yes. They had both admitted that. But lust was not love. Nor was gratitude. She was grateful for his willingness to assist her in her quest. She respected him though she suspected he did not expect people to see him as deserving respect. She could not love him. He would be leaving as soon as she was settled. No. She simply enjoyed his company and appreciated his thoughtfulness.
They rounded a curve in the dirt track and Julia saw a modest country home on a rise. Of a modern style, it nevertheless was nearer in size to a manor house, and its warm brick façade gave it a welcoming appearance. Her mouth dried and she clenched her hands together.
Soon.
As they drew nearer, Julia saw activity off to the left and saw two small girls playing tag while two older boys tossed a ball back and forth. Children. Why had she not imagined Beatrice might have children? Were these her nephews and nieces?
When the children noticed the carriage they stopped their play and stood watching to see who they were. The oldest boy went into the house, and by the time they reached the front portico a man of about fifty, with graying temples edging his brown hair, stepped out and onto the stair. Julia’s throat constricted and she took a deep breath before allowing Tristan to assist her down from the carriage.
Slightly shorter than Tristan, he had the sturdy, muscled build of a man who’d grown up engaged in vigorous activity. Deep blue eyes studied them as they approached the stair, curiosity rather than caution lent question to his features.
“We beg your forgiveness for arriving without warning or introduction,” Tristan said. “But are you Squire Groves?”
“Yes, I am.” His eyebrow lifted in inquiry. “How may I help you?”
The squire visibly started when Tristan introduced Julia.
“Actually, we wish to speak with you and your wife about a private matter.” Tristan explained, then added, “May we come inside?
The squire invited them in and led them to a receiving room on the ground floor. No lingering aroma of tea or perfume lent the atmosphere of recent company. The polished neatness and scent of lavender and beeswax revealed it as a room seldom used. As they took their seats, he requested that the maid bring them tea after informing his wife of their arrival.
Their presence drew the children to the entrance hall until their father told them to go back to their games. The open curiosity of his greeting had shifted into wary civility as he asked them about the weather during their travels.
Julia found it difficult not to fidget while they waited. Her mind blanked while her heart thudded and her hands felt cold inside her gloves. Tristan apparently sensed her state of mind and engaged the squire in the polite conversation about weather and road conditions.
Light footsteps announced the squire’s wife as she came through the door. “Mrs. Otis said you wished to see me?” The woman’s dark eyes widened at the sight of company. “Oh, we have guests—“ She broke off when Julia stood and turned to her, then gasped. All color leached from her face and her hands sought the support of a nearby chair as she whispered, “Maman?”
Julia took in the high cheek bones, the faint cleft in the woman’s chin and the widow’s peak defining her dark hairline and knew she’d found her sister. Two narrow scars ran diagonally down each side of her face from temple to the edge of her nose. Another ran across her throat in what looked to be a full circle of her neck. Time had faded what must have been bright red cuts to thin pale lines. White as her face now was, the lines still showed starkly.
Beatrice blinked and focused on Julia again. Her face remained pale, and she clutched the top of the chair with whitened knuckles. Faintly, as though still unsure, she asked, “Juliette?”
“Yes. Oh Beatrice, I was t
old you died that night.” Julia stepped forward, arms outstretched, her eyes stinging with tears of joy. “Renard lied to me. I didn’t know until recently what he’d done.”
If anything, Beatrice’s face blanched even more. “You know–?”
Squire Groves moved quickly to Beatrice’s side, releasing her grip on the chair and guiding her to sit in it instead. Julia let her arms drop back down and wrapped them around her waist, dismayed that she had further shocked her sister.
The squire knelt in front of his wife and looked into her eyes, sending her some unspoken message before rising to address them again. “Obviously, you are well informed, yet you have come anyway,” he said quietly.
He stepped to the door and checked the entry hall before closing the door firmly. “Our children know nothing of the past events, only that their mother was attacked by a knife wielding villain when she was very young. We should like to keep it that way.”
“Of course.” Julia murmured. “I didn’t wish to alarm you. Only to see you. To...” She trailed off. “I didn’t know when we began what circumstances you might be in... or if you still lived.” Heat burned her throat and cheeks. “I thought we might find a way to be together again if you did.”
Tristan made eye contact with the squire, “Their cousin, the Earl of Summerfield, has been charged with treason and is dying of consumption. You need not fear he will play a role in either of their lives again.”
Groves looked at Julia, then away. It was clear he wanted to ask if Julia had been sold as well, but hesitated.
“I wasn’t sold.” Julia told him. She looked back to her sister. “Renard saw our mother in me, as did you, and kept me with the idea of making me his hostess when I was of age.” She then explained the events that had led to her discovery of all he had done and planned. “So you see, I didn’t know what to expect. I am heartily glad that you were able to escape and find someone who most obviously cares for you.”
As her story played out, the color began to return to her sister’s face and the dazed shock faded from her eyes. By the end, tears had gathered there also, and a faint smile softened her lips. She rose and crossed to Julia and they embraced. “Oh, Juliette, I missed you so. I am so glad you are unharmed.”
She released Julia and curtsied to Tristan. “And thank you, sir, for assisting her. I am glad she found a champion willing to take on so improbable a quest.”
Beatrice seated herself again. Her poise returned and she poured tea while Groves offered Tristan a glass of brandy. When the basics of their current lives had been exchanged, Beatrice asked her husband to call the children in to meet their long lost aunt.
They clattered into the room, then stopped and stared when their mother explained who their visitors were. The eldest boy studied Julia intently when his mother explained that she and Julia had become separated in the chaos of their arrival in England.
“I am Charles Andre... named for my father and Mama’s father,” he announced as bowed politely in introduction when his mother finished. “Mama says I am like my grandfather in many ways, though I favor my father in looks.”
Indeed he did, with his light brown hair, blue eyes, and his father’s sturdy build.
“I am Stephen.” The other boy, showing equally sturdy promise, announced as he bowed before her. “I shall be nine next month.”
“I am pleased to meet you.” Julia told him solemnly. Stephen. The English form of Etienne, their brother’s name. He too, had light brown hair, though of a more chestnut shade. His eyes were the same as her sister’s dark brown.
The girls each curtsied and Julia gave them a tremulous smile as she returned the favor. They announced themselves as Elise, aged six, and Juliette, aged four. Their dark brown curls and blue eyes betrayed the combined coloring of their parents. Julia felt as stunned as Beatrice must have felt when she saw Julia.
Not only had she found her sister Beatrice... but she had a brother-in-law. She had nephews and nieces. She had family.
TRISTAN WOULD HAVE preferred to take a room above the public house rather than infringe on Julia and Beatrice’s reunion, but Groves insisted that he stay.
“I suspect we shall both be ignored for a while,” he said with a chuckle as they sat in his study that afternoon. “They have much to resolve. We can get to know one another, in the meantime. I know you felt obliged to assist Beatrice’s sister after the way her cousin used her, but I suspect you will have a continuing role in her life now that they are together.”
“That will not be possible,” Tristan watched through the window where Elise and Julia had coaxed her into their game of tag.
“Why not?” Groves gave him a sharp look. “You have been in constant company with her for weeks. I do not judge, as shown by my own marriage, but the temptations of the road and the realities of social norm are still in play. She has been raised as a genteel lady. I do not think it honorable for you to abandon her.”
“Tempted though I might have been to pursue my attraction, I have never lost sight of the fact that Julia should be able to return to society. Only a select few know of this trip and, though she may have lacked a chaperone, she has been accorded all the respect within my power.”
Well, nearly all. He should have slept on the floor outside her room rather than beside the bed. He should never have kissed her or spoken of his desire for her.
“The Countess of Ravencliffe, who is one of the few who know of this journey, and the Duchess of Wolverton, my foster mother, would both sponsor her.” He continued. “But that is all the more reason I shall distance myself.”
He walked over to the window and took a sip of his brandy before explaining, “Lest you think my refusal less than honorable, you should know I am the natural son of the sixth Duke of Wolverton. I am accepted within my family’s near circle of friends, but am merely tolerated by the rest of the ton because of my family’s influence. I am not an acceptable match for a lady of quality.”
“Beatrice would not be thought an acceptable bride for any man according to that gage.” Groves mused. “Yet I find her quite acceptable.” He grinned suddenly and added, “In fact I find her to be nearly perfect in every way.”
Tristan picked up on the proviso in his statement. “Only nearly perfect?”
“She has a tendency to argue when she disagrees with me.” Groves chuckled.
“Then you will be twice cursed when Julia is near. She argues as well.”
Groves joined him at the window and watched Julia and Beatrice laugh as they chased the girls about the yard.
“You will be leaving soon, then, I suppose.” He didn’t look at Tristan when he added, “Julia will be welcome here for as long as she wishes to stay. If she decides to accept the patronage of the ladies you mentioned, I shall see she has a maid and postilion riders to take her there.”
Tristan nodded.
Hours later, when everyone had said goodnight and gone to bed, Tristan knocked on Julia’s door. “I came to say good-bye,” he said when she opened it. “I am leaving for London early in the morning.”
“So soon?” Julia’s face paled. “I thought you might stay another day. We have traveled so many miles, I would think you would want to rest a day or so.”
“You should spend your time getting to know Beatrice again,” he told her. “Groves is a good sort and has assured me you are welcome to make your home with them if you choose. I belong in London.”
They stood in silence for an awkward moment.
“I shall send you word of what happens with your cousin and your cottage. Ravencliffe promised he will petition the king, who may allow you to retain your home. Your cousin’s treachery should not cost you any more than it already has.”
Julia’s eyes widened and Tristan saw he had startled her. “Do you think he might?”
“I sincerely hope so. You deserve to be happy and free to choose where to live.” He reached out and traced her cheek with his finger, then leaned forward to kiss her forehead. He did not trust himse
lf to kiss her other than in the briefest way. “I shall be gone before daylight.” Then, before she could say another word, he returned to his room.
He left Boarhunt before the sun was more than a glimmer on the horizon.
CHAPTER 29
It took him three days to reach his rooms in St. James Street. The day after leaving Boarhunt, the rains came again and the roads turned into a quagmire that forced him to rest his backside in a tiny village whose name he forgot as soon as he took to the road again. The local pub had two rooms to let, each barely large enough for the narrow cots they contained. He tossed and turned most of the night, waking often, only to remember that he traveled alone.
Only two other times had he had so disliked being alone with his own thoughts. The first was after his mother died and he’d realized he was completely on his own. Grieving and angry, he’d found his way to the townhouse in Mayfair where the sixth Duke of Wolverton lived. He’d stared in confusion at the home of the man who had given him life, but whom he believed had not bothered to answer his mother’s plea on his behalf.
The second had been when he ran away from that same Mayfair home three years later. His father brought him home again, sick with an illness from which Tristan had recovered but his father, who caught the fever from him, had not.
Why did he feel like that forlorn ten-year-old boy? No one had died this time. Nor did he suffer the guilt of that rebellious thirteen year old. He felt something equally empty though. His mood was not helped by the low dark clouds and weeping weather that had kept him sitting, alone and brooding, in an anonymous public house.
He missed Julia. He had come to enjoy her quiet conversation and dry sense of humor. She was well read and an intelligent companion. She was good company. He missed listening to her low, seductive voice and seeing the sparkle of excitement every time they found a new clue to her sister’s whereabouts. Yes, he’d desired her. And, yes, he had kissed her. But he’d not betrayed his honor by going further. At least, not much further.
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