Damn, but he’d wanted to.
Still, that was all it was. Desire. Hours spent in the company of a woman whose voice raised his pulse and whose proximity made his body ache did not mean she would not fade from his thoughts soon enough. Once he finished tying up the loose ends of his mission, he would think of her no more. Or at least not often.
Julia preferred the country and quiet. He felt most comfortable in the city with its familiar racket of people and action. Even if an association with him would not lower her in the eyes of the ton, they would not suit.
A day later, he opened the door to his apartments and sighed. It was not yet soon enough, and he still missed her.
He’d sent warning to his man, Reilly, that he would be home soon and hoped the message arrived before he did. He needed a bath and fresh clothes that did not bear the stains of travel. He needed a good meal and a night’s sleep in his own bed. And he needed to put Julia out his mind. Reilly met him at the door and Tristan soon succeeded in all but the last.
Shortly after breakfast the next morning, he received a reply to the message he’d sent his Ravencliffe before going to bed. Ravencliffe suggested they meet at White’s so Tristan could fill him in on his journey and learn where things stood with Summerfield, who still clung to life.
He spent the rest of the morning dealing with various correspondence and invitations that had arrived in his absence. He might not have a large circle of friends, but it was large enough that he did not lack for an active social life. Finally, he sent a note to his brother but did no more than inform him of his return and to explain that he still had business to attend to before paying his family a visit.
He found Ravencliffe at a table tucked in a corner of the dining room as far from the other tables as possible. When Tristan joined him, he signaled the waiter that they were ready to be served, then settled back against his chair.
“So you found the sister. Amazing.” He shook his head. “I was sure you were doomed to failure.”
By the time Tristan finished telling Ravencliffe how they had finally tracked Beatrice down, Ravencliffe had an amused smile. “My mother will be pleased to learn that the sisters are happily reunited and safe. She has been most impatient for word.”
“You may assure her that Groves seems a good sort who is devoted to his wife, and that he has promised Julia a home for as long as she desires.” He leaned slightly forward. “Speaking of which, what of the cottage? Were you able to present the petition for her?”
“I was told the king will take it under advisement. I believe he may look favorably on the petition since Goodwin’s wife was a great favorite of the queen’s.” He frowned. “Though the king’s illness causes him to deal with such matters irregularly.” He took a bite of his roast duck, then said. “This morning I informed the council that you had returned and promised that I would forward your report by the end of the week.”
They finished their meal and Tristan returned to his rooms while Ravencliffe went home to dress for a betrothal ball.
In the intervening days, Tristan wrote his report with the details Ned had revealed in his bid for clemency. He also made a point of being present when Tom was loaded onto a ship bound for the penal colony. He did not visit Ned, who had been transferred to Newgate.
He replaced his boots and visited his tailor, but avoided his usual company of friends. The masculine banter they shared did not suit his mood at the moment. He also discovered he did not find the noise of London as comfortable as he had before. The streets seemed more crowded than usual, even for the peak of the season. He found the crowds irritated rather than invigorating him as they had in the past.
Visiting his brother and sisters did not appeal, either. Ravencliffe had informed him that the Longborough sisters had taken up residence at Wolverton House when a family emergency left them without chaperones for the Season. As friends of his half-sister Anne, Her Grace had insisted they stay with her for the remainder of the Season. Tristan had absolutely no desire to become entangled with a gaggle of giggling debutants.
In the weeks he’d spent traveling with Julia he had become more comfortable with open spaces and the slow pace of life away from the city. For the first time in his life, he did not feel the constant need to watch his back or concern himself with hiding in the shadows.
During their travel, Julia had surprised him one afternoon by imitating different birdcalls, and from that time on, he paid closer attention to the different songs they sang. Because of her, he’d become accustomed to frogs croaking in the distance at night and found amusement, rather than annoyance, in the chatter of scolding squirrels. He missed her voice.
He missed her.
When the second week passed, he received word from Mrs. Dawes that the Earl of Summerfield had succumbed, at last, to his consumption. He was believed to be the sole remaining male of his family, but solicitors had been assigned to search for any distant relatives who might stand to inherit the title. It still remained to be seen if the king would confiscate the properties that went with it.
He wrote the news to Julia in care of Squire Groves and told her Summerfield would be laid to rest in the family crypt without fanfare. She need not pay respects to the man who deserved none. He made a point of emphasizing that point. She was not to wear black for a man whose soul was black enough.
“AUNT JULIA! COME SEE the new puppies! Aren’t they the most cunning and sweetest things you have ever seen?” Juliette, the youngest of her nieces grabbed her hand and tugged her into the far stall of the stable.
Julia adored her nieces and nephews. Juliette, who had been told she was named for her aunt, had taken a particular fancy to her. Every day brought a new flower to see, a new accomplishment to share, and a new interest to explore.
Elise had their grandmother’s gentle sweetness and steady, calm outlook. The boys reminded her of her brothers in more than their names. The eldest was more serious, the younger more rambunctious.
She knew all was not perfect. Her sister was not the same fearless, saucy girl Julia remembered. She couldn’t be after the horrors she had endured. No matter how cheerful and positive she appeared on the surface, her past had left more evidence than her marred face and neck. Those thoughts, too, sometimes made Julia’s eyes sting.
Her sister’s husband Charles was cheerful, kind, and loved her sister with a devotion that warmed her heart. Conversely, she felt further estranged from her sister than ever. Her sister’s husband and the children accepted her without question or reserve, yet they were not her husband or her children.
How very selfish I must be to envy my sister.
But Julia did envy Beatrice the happy, busy life she now led. Her sister had borne far more than Julia could imagine. She deserved her loving husband and children. She deserved the laughter that rang through the house as the children charged up and down the stairs. She deserved all the good Julia could imagine for her.
But was it selfish to want a husband and family of her own? She had told herself she was content with her spinster’s life. She told herself she’d be satisfied to embroider and garden. After her public display of panic during her Season she’d accepted that she would remain alone, and she blamed no one but herself for her foolishness.
But Beatrice’s family revived the almost forgotten sense of belonging that glowed like a beacon in her memory and awakened the yearnings she had forced into dormancy. She’d supposed them buried them forever. Until Tristan kissed her. Until she had looked at her nephews and nieces and imagined dark haired sons and daughters with crystal blue eyes and devilish grins.
The heavy rains that fell the day after he left had seemed like sympathetic tears for their parting. In fact, the uneven spring weather, first cloudy, then sunny, then rain or fog seemed to reflect the ups and downs of her emotions. Did he think of her at all?
He’d not lingered once they found Beatrice. Had she imagined more than desire in their attraction to each other? She must have. How else could he have left s
o quickly? He’d kissed her forehead and not her lips when he said goodbye. She was a fool. And she missed him terribly.
When she received Tristan’s letter informing her of Renard’s death and the lack of funeral ceremony she knew better than to pin her hopes on returning to the cottage. In point of fact, she didn’t know if that was what she wanted after all. She was no longer the fearful girl she had been at seventeen. The idea of returning to the cottage felt a bit like giving up on life.
It was time to think of the future. One that didn’t tie itself to the past. Her cousin, his actions and the evil he’d done were past. Her brief time of sharing her days with a man of humor, intelligence, and honor were past. He had acknowledged his attraction to her, but made it clear it went no further than the normal inclinations of nature–something to be controlled among respectable people.
She was silly to have imagined more. Had it been more, he would not have left at the earliest hour of the earliest day he could after delivering her to her sister.
Much as she enjoyed being with Beatrice, there were many years they could not talk about. That, too, was past. They would move forward with stories that developed in the future. They would remain in contact and visit each other often. But Julia knew she would not be able to make a permanent home with her sister. It hurt too much and she did not care to wallow in self-pity.
So, just two weeks after reuniting with her sister, Julia wrote to Lord Goodwin accepting his offer as Alice’s governess.
CHAPTER 30
Tristan had been about to end his self-imposed isolation by spending an hour or two at Jackson’s boxing establishment when the morning post brought a letter of summons to the palace at St. James. He stared at the letter in stunned silence, rereading the official language of the summons several times before its meaning sank in. He was to attend the king’s levee to be raised to the rank of baron for his service to the crown in by exposing Summerfield’s treason and restoring Alice to her father.
A baron? Him? A title faded the stain of illegitimacy in the minds of most of the ton. He read the summons again. Yes. He was to report to the clerk at St. James before Wednesday to provide the proper information that would be on the patent of title.
A Peer. Dear Lord. He grinned for the first time since he’d left Julia.
He was to be a lord of the realm.
When Tristan reported to St. James the next day, it was still with a sense of disbelief.
“What name shall I enter as your title m’lord?” The clerk looked up from the paperwork, pen in hand. “It is your choice.”
His mind whirled at the thought. Nothing had prepared him for a choice. No longer Mr. Sheffield the bastard, but Lord...who? He stared, his mind blank. Then it hit him. Unable to give Tristan his name, his father had given him family... and property. “I should like to take the name of the land my father willed me,” he finally said. “I shall be Hartford of Surrey.”
The only thing missing in his day was Julia.
Ravencliffe met him at the palace on the day of the King’s Levee. “You should pay a visit to your family once your business is finished.” Ravencliffe said. “In addition to your news, there are family matters that they would like to share with you.”
“Has Anne accepted an offer, then?”
“Not that I know of.” Ravencliffe replied, “But you should visit them, nonetheless.” Tristan suspected Ravencliffe recognized his reluctance to socialize, and had been told by his family that he had not called on them since his return.
At precisely three o’clock he and Ravencliffe were admitted to the receiving room. The king did not look well, but neither did he look as mentally unfit as Summerfield had declared. Fifty years on the throne must surely take its toll. Everyone knew Princess Amelia, the youngest of the king’s daughters, was gravely ill, which must be a terrible strain on a man as devoted to his children as he was. Regardless of rumor, however, today the king appeared competent and alert so far as Tristan could see.
When it was time to present the king’s honors, the clerk unrolled the patent of title, and read, “In honor of his service for Us Our heirs and successors We do appoint give and grant unto Tristan Sheffield the said name state degree style dignity title and honor of Baron Hartford of Surrey to have and to hold unto him and the heirs male of his body lawfully begotten and to be begotten...”
As the clerk finished reading the rest of the patent of title, Tristan darted a glance in the king’s direction to find the man smiling at him benevolently. Still not quite able to absorb the reality of it all, he bowed and thanked the king.
“The queen was greatly saddened at the loss of Lady Goodwin and her son. We are happy to provide her daughter’s rescuer appropriate reward for his service.” The king told him. “Of course, it is Our expectation that you will continue to serve the Foreign Office.”
Tristan bowed again. “Of course, Your Highness. It is my pleasure to serve Your Majesty in any way you please.”
The king leaned forward and announced, “We understand a Miss Dorsey assisted you in the child’s rescue. It would also please Us if you were to fetch Miss Dorsey to London so the queen might show thanks to her as well. She informs me Lady Goodwin was a favorite and will be missed at court.”
His lips twitched before he settled back again. “As the daughter of a nobleman, though he was French, she is to be escorted with every courtesy and comfort.”
Tristan’s pulse jumped. How much had Ravencliffe revealed to the monarch of their unorthodox search? “I shall be honored, Your Majesty.”
“It is time you found yourself a wife, young man. Fill your nursery and show the ton your father made no mistake in acknowledging you.” Tristan blanched to hear the king speak publically about the scandal. The king raised his finger, waggling it back and forth in admonishment. “Oh, yes, I have not forgotten the stir Wolverton created when he took you into his home. You have your late father’s looks and courage, though you bear a different name.”
Descendants. He had never allowed himself to think in those terms. His father had willed him property and a generous annual income, but could not provide him with rank or the respect legitimacy provided. Too baseborn to be matched with a female of quality, but too lofty to be trusted by the lower classes—he’d never allowed himself to imagine a family of his own.
Once the news spread, all but the highest sticklers would ignore his origins other than that he was the younger son of a duke who the king considered worthy of a title of his own. The idea left him lightheaded, as though he’d run a mile uphill without pause. He’d believed himself resolved to his place in life, but he acknowledged, now, that he craved the acceptance of his brother’s peers for his own sake. Breathe. A grin split his face. Lord Hartford.
This changed everything.
Dared he hope?
Julia plagued his dreams each night. Their kisses had left them both panting with need, but how much of her response had to do with their intimate proximity while they traveled? The night at the Gray Whale had opened Julia’s eyes to the earthier side of life and stirred her instincts. How much of her response had been the natural awakening of womanhood and how much had been an attraction to him personally?
Yet he had seen her face when introduced to her nieces and nephews. He had seen her interactions with Alice. She should be married and have children of her own. An image of Julia, great with child–his child–formed and his throat clogged with unfamiliar emotion.
Would she wish to marry?
Would she wish to marry him?
As they mounted their horses to leave the palace, Ravencliffe said, “If you are to fetch Miss Dorsey to London, I should tell you that she sent word she accepted Goodwin’s offer and is now acting as Alice’s governess.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this before?” Tristan demanded.
Why did she inform Ravencliffe and not him? Why had she left her sister’s home after all the effort they’d made to find her?
“Was there a problem with her
sister or the squire? He assured me she was welcome to make her home with them.”
“Miss Dorsey didn’t say. She merely informed me of her change of location so I would know where to contact her once the petition was resolved. As to why I didn’t mention it, the letter arrived just before I was called away. Then, when you turned in your report you indicated that you considered Miss Dorsey safely situated, and you said you were ready for any new assignments the crown chose to give you, so I didn’t think it mattered.” He gave Tristan a shrewd look. “Apparently, I was wrong.”
CHAPTER 31
The schoolroom door opened and the housekeeper told Julia, “Mr. Goodwin requests you join him in the drawing room, Miss Dorsey. There is a gentleman to see you.”
Julia’s spirits lifted in excitement as she set aside the lesson she was preparing and crossed the room. Tristan. She could think of no one else who might visit her here.
Squire Groves wouldn’t come without Beatrice, and Lord Ravencliffe had no reason to come at all, though she’d sent him word that she had accepted the position as Alice’s governess. Until matters were settled, her whereabouts were of concern to the crown. Perhaps Lord Ravencliffe had told Tristan where she was. She stepped to the mirror on the wall, smoothed her hair, and brushed her skirts until they lay neat and smooth. Her fingers trembled on the bannister as she descended the stairs.
“Ah, here is Miss Dorsey.” Lord Goodwin said when she walked through the door.
The gentleman who rose from the wing-backed chair to face her was not Tristan and Julia’s bright smile faltered. This man barely came eye level with her, and his broad waistcoat should have been let out half a stone-weight ago. His dark eyes sparkled with humor, though, and he bowed to her with proper respect. She guessed him to be in his early forties.
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