“May I present Mr. Malcom, Miss Dorsey? He has come regarding some irregularities that arose during the crown’s investigation into Summerfield’s affairs. If you wish to deal with him privately I shall leave the door open and be available across the hall.”
Julia didn’t know what to make of such a situation. Irregularities? Did that mean the crown deemed her part of her cousin’s schemes after all? Yet Mr. Malcom didn’t give the appearance of someone delivering stern judgement. She looked between the two men who seemed to await her decision, but she could not think. She could not breathe.
“I believe I would like you to stay, Lord Goodwin. I cannot think how my cousin’s affairs could involve me. He acted as my guardian when I was a child, to be sure, and he provided me with a place to live and funds to support myself, but I knew nothing of his actual dealings.” Stomach quaking, she took the nearest seat.
“I fear you misunderstand me, Miss Dorsey.” Mr. Malcom quickly corrected. “It is not you who are to blame for the situation, I fear it is I, or rather my firm, that was unaware of the circumstances.” He pulled out a handkerchief and passed it over his brow.
“You see, until his recent passing, I was unaware that your cousin had not fulfilled his duties as your guardian and informed you of a bequest left to you from your maternal grandmother. When you came of age, he assured us that you had requested he continue to supervise your income. As you had taken up residence in the property involved, we accepted his claim without verifying your wishes in person. It is an oversight for which we are truly apologetic.”
“What bequest? When?”
“Your maternal grandmother passed away shortly after your rescue from France. Hearing of your survival, she had amended her will. When Lord Summerfield learned of her death, he contacted our firm in your name as your nearest male relative. Since you were but a child, he was granted the control of the bequest.”
“Then the cottage is mine? I do not need the king’s permission to live there?”
“It was your petition that raised the question of your inheritance.” Mr. Malcom explained. “As soon as we realized you had no knowledge of the situation I took it upon myself to correct the matter.”
He reached down to a leather portfolio and brought out a sheaf of papers. “I have brought you the deed to the property and statements showing the investments made with the principle and your quarterly portion of the funds.”
An hour later, Mr. Malcom took his leave and Julia excused herself to go to her room. She needed time to absorb the news that she had an independent living. Then she had to decide what to do about it.
“MISS DORSEY, I DID it!” Alice called from the tree branch she had climbed as part of what she claimed was her training to remain fit and agile. Mr. Sheffield, she had assured both Julia and her father, had explained that climbing trees, running swiftly across open pastures and learning to swim were all activities that kept one prepared to deal with emergencies. She regularly picked the locks of the various rooms in the house and had discovered a book on tying knots that she practiced with as much diligence as she did with her embroidery.
Her experience at the hands of her captors and the success of their escape because of the lessons Tristan had taught them had left her with the determination to be prepared for any future disasters. She spoke of him daily. Did she remember when Tristan said this or did that? They were memories Julia cherished, but also ones she preferred to forget.
He had his life and she had hers. It did no good to dwell on their time together. It had been an anomaly of chance orchestrated by the evil actions of men and war. Tristan had not contacted her since leaving Boarhunt other than to inform her of Renard’s death.
Of course, it would not be proper for him to correspond with her. A gentleman did not write personal letters to an unmarried lady unless they were betrothed. Nor could she write him to tell him that she had taken the position of Alice’s governess. Contacting Lord Ravencliffe had been business. Telling Tristan where she could now be found, was not.
It was a silly rule. Why shouldn’t men and women exchange letters simply because they had not promised to marry? If anything, it seemed to her, such exchanges would be an excellent way to learn of one another’s manner of thinking. To understand the heart of the one writing of events and aspirations.
Perhaps she would write Tristan despite the rules. She could explain her reasons for becoming a governess. She could tell Tristan how much he had influenced Alice and that she did not see herself as helpless against villains but as someone who could outsmart them. She could tell him about the cottage... though he would know that by now. She could tell him–
She could not tell him she missed him. She could not tell him that she wished he had been a less honorable man the night she’d heard the couple in the next room. She could not tell him anything. She must remember that he had acted out of duty to the crown and for no other reason. She would never forget him, but she must bury her foolish dreams and build a new future. One in which Tristan Sheffield had no part.
“Oh, Miss Dorsey! I can see much farther from up here. There is a postilion traveling on the main road and I can see the vicar driving his gig back to the vicarage. Who do you think he was visiting?”
“I would not know, nor is it any of our business.” Julia told her with a smile. “I do know you should you come down and wash your face and hands then change into a clean frock. It is time for your pianoforte lessons.”
Alice had changed and was carefully picking out the notes for a new piece of music Julia had set her to, when Connors entered the room and announced, “Lord Harford of Surrey to see you Miss.”
Lord Harford? She knew no one by that name. Of Surrey? The house where she’d been held with Alice was in Surrey. Had Tristan asked someone to deliver a message from him? She took a deep breath and willed nerves to calm. She would not allow herself to be disappointed a second time.
“I shall be down in a moment, Connors.”
When the footman opened the door to the drawing room five minutes later, Julia’s heart leapt in her throat when Tristan rose to greet her. Her pulse fluttered and jumped. He came. An empty corner of her heart filled with joy.
A quick glance around the room revealed no one other than Lord Goodwin. Where was the mysterious Lord Harford?
She curtsied and fought to keep her voice steady. “Mr. Sheffield, how good it is to see you again, if a bit of a surprise. Connors said my visitor was a Lord Harford.” She caught a whiff of the sandalwood and leather she associated with him, and her heart hammered with the awareness of how he affected her senses. She raised her eyes, locking onto his steady gaze.
His eyes crinkled and a ruddy flush mottled his chiseled features. “His majesty considered the quiet conclusion of Summerfield’s treason and the safe return of Lord Goodwin’s daughter worthy of a recognition.” He glanced to Lord Goodwin, then back to her. “Though most would consider knighthood more than enough, he chose to make me Baron Hartford as a curtesy to my late father’s memory.”
“How wonderful for you! Congratulations, my lord.” That corner of joy in her heart swelled. He wanted to tell me in person. “It is an honor well deserved.” She met his gaze and grinned in delight when his ruddy flush deepened. He was not used to praise, and his embarrassment charmed her.
“Thank you, Miss Dorsey.” Tristan straightened, then said, “His majesty also sends you greetings. He has asked me to escort you to London so the queen may further express her thanks for your role in keeping Alice safe.”
Julia felt her smile falter. Is that why he came? Sent by the king’s command and not of his own volition? Disappointment froze her giddy excitement.
“A coach awaits us outside. To lend appropriate chaperonage, I took the liberty of borrowing my sister’s maid to attend you. My man, Reilly, also travels with us.”
Irritation jostled with bewilderment as she looked between her former champion and her employer. The king’s command, though, gave her no choice. “I don�
��t know what to say. Lord Goodwin, I beg your pardon for this imposition, but a royal request–“
“Of course you will go. One does not refuse the king. Particularly when he wishes to show his appreciation. In fact, the maid has been sent to your rooms and is packing as we speak.”
“But my position, and Alice...”
“Will be held for you should you decide to return. I have known since Mr. Malcom delivered your legal papers that you were likely to change your mind about remaining a governess.”
CHAPTER 32
Julia sat across from Tristan in the carriage after they left the Goodwin estate and wondered how different their conversation would be if they were alone. She wanted to ask him if the monarch’s request had been his only reason for coming. He addressed her so formally. Was she truly nothing more than a duty in his mission for the crown? Had she been wrong to think he cared more deeply than physical desire?
Certainly, she didn’t feel she could speak to him about private matters with his sister’s maid sitting beside her, let alone with Tristan’s valet sitting across from them. Julia had become so comfortable with speaking frankly to Tristan as they traveled, but it would be bold, and perhaps desperate, to ask if he had missed her, no matter if they were alone or not. She cast about her mind for safe, normal conversation.
“Won’t you tell me about your audience with the king? How very pleased you must be, Lord Hartford.”
His eyes glinted, but his response held the same formal civility he’d shown since his arrival. “And greatly surprised as well.” He glanced the maid who stared placidly, and carefully, at the passing landscape and his expression sobered. “When we change horses, perhaps you might like to walk about a bit.”
“I believe I would.” Julia noted that Reilly, the valet, also had his head turned carefully toward the passing scene. “The weather is certainly fine enough to make such exercise most welcome.”
Had he missed her company as she had missed his?
Perhaps his title made him feel self-conscious. His rise to a peerage must seem strange. Yet it gratified. So many little things he’d shared as humorous episodes of competition with his half-brother had revealed his need for recognition as his brother’s equal.
Tristan’s father had accepted him into his legitimate family but society did not. She recognized that he loved his family yet hated his place in it. She felt much the same about her cousin—thankful he had provided shelter and education but horrified by why he had done so.
They stopped at a village an hour later, and Tristan assisted her from the carriage after instructing Reilly to arrange for a light meal before they took to the road again. He led her away from the stable yard toward a copse of trees where a narrow footpath traced its way to a stream at the back of the inn. The maid followed as was proper, but at a distance to allow them privacy of conversation.
“Tell me what you have avoided saying in front of the servants,” Julia said when they reached the stream. “I am not used to dealing with you so formally.” His lips twitched, but the tension around his mouth and eyes revealed concern that alarmed her.
“I believe the king is aware of our lack of chaperone in our travels,” he told her. “He was particular in his instructions that you were to come into the city properly escorted and with every honor. That might have been his way of showing London that you were not to be reviled because of Summerfield’s treason, but he followed those instructions with... advice... to me—“ He broke off and seemed at a loss to continue.
Julia’s nerves tightened until her skin chilled. Welcome advice did not make a strong man falter and look away. “What did he advise?” she prompted. “He would not have raised your rank if he found you wanting.”
“He told me I should marry and fill my nursery to carry on my new title.” He continued to avoid eye contact while he explained, “I believe he was telling me to do the honorable thing... and marry you.”
Julia’s breath hitched and shockwaves of dismay made her reach for the support of a nearby tree. He hadn’t come for her, he came for honor. No wonder he’d remained distant. If he didn’t marry her he would lose honor in the eyes of the king, his family, and himself. Tristan was truly a man of honor. Julia had recognized that in him even when he had thought her an enemy and suspected her of being someone’s traitorous mistress. Failing his honor would ruin his already limited sense of worth.
He shot her a quick glance as though gauging her reaction, but quickly looked away again. He is so embarrassed he can’t even face me.
But what of her? Was she to be an honorable choice, saved from ruin that was not really ruin? Ruin he had refused to allow even when she had begged for it. Was she now to accept marriage as the price of expediency in travel? To be acknowledged as a fulfilled obligation? It would be expected, but would it be right?
Where was the honor in that for her? Kings thought nothing of marrying for political union, but she wanted a love union. Did the king think she had no pride? She pulled in a breath with effort, and strove to find words to save them both.
“I am honored that he would think me in need of such protection, but I believe we shall all be best served if I decline your offer.” She straightened away from the tree and turned back to the path and the inn. “His efforts in bringing me to the city with proper escort will be quite enough to protect my reputation, particularly as I shall return to a life of quiet and privacy.”
“Julia, wait!” Tristan’s voice held a note of panic as he reached out and stayed her with a hand on her shoulder. “I handled that badly.” He moved to stand before her, but now it was she who kept her eyes cast down. “The king didn’t say more than that I should marry.” Tristan cupped her jaw to raise her face and she finally met his gaze. “But I immediately thought of you when he said that.” His gaze didn’t falter and Julia’s throat dried at the sincerity she read in his eyes. “That is what I meant to tell you.” He stroked a finger along her cheek. “I have missed you.”
She looked up at him then. “I missed you, too. But it may well be that we simply became used to each other’s company, just as we were used to being alone before. Now that you have title to go along with your land you can court any woman you choose. You will become used to her as well.”
“I don’t believe that.”
A glimmer of hope flared, but she dared not trust her heart, though it was clear he regretted speaking so bluntly earlier.
“I choose you, Julia. I am not interested in some child recently emerged from the schoolroom. Nor do I want to marry anyone who would not have deemed me worthy of consideration before the king’s blessing. I’ve long had an income with which to support a wife had I been willing to make an offer and she to accept it. Yet I did not know any woman who could overlook my place in the world and not despise the position she would hold if I did.”
He stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers and she recognized honesty in the direct intensity of his gaze. “You behaved no differently toward me after you knew of my bastardy than before. You didn’t despise me for my lack of rank—merely for my treatment of you.” He gave her a crooked smile. “Though I think you grew to like me better after I untied you.”
That made her smile.
“I thought so.” He slipped his arms from her shoulders and folded them around her. “I would have preferred it if the king had not prodded me in the direction he believed I should go. It is a choice I’d have made on my own. But others might comment on it and I felt you should know what he said.”
Was it wishful thinking that she believed the warmth in his gaze? The events of the last month made her doubt her ability to recognize the truth. Yet Tristan had not lied to protect her feelings before, why would he do so now? Her heart beat faster.
She didn’t resist when he gathered her closer and brushed his lips against her ear. Heat bloomed where his lips touched and spread outward and down to her most intimate core. Dear heavens. He’d barely made contact with her ear—her ear—and the yearning, hol
low need threatened to overwhelm her as it had at the inn. Desire again. Was it enough?
“Marry me, Julia,” he whispered. “Not because the king thinks it is a good idea, but because you do... and I do.”
Flutters raced down her spine. She trusted Tristan. Dared she trust herself? She leaned back. “Why is it a good idea? Because we desire each other?” she whispered. “Even I know desire fades. Marriage is for life.”
“But there is more than desire, Julia. There is friendship, and love.” He kissed her briefly, lightly, as though to show her he would not use passion to make his point. “I confess I was half in love with you after you insisted I tie you back in the chair rather than share my bed, and I admired the way you stood toe to toe with me to protect Alice.” His eyes met hers, steady and direct. “I toppled the rest of the way when you defied Summerfield’s malicious attack by walking out undefeated.” He stopped and hugged her close and dropped another kiss on the top of her head. “You humble me with your courage.”
“I am not courageous,” she protested.
“Oh but you are, my sweet.” Tristan assured her. “You have faced your fears—and that takes true courage. What is more, you are kind.” He kissed her again. “You are loyal.” His hands cradled her face and he looked into her eyes, “You are everything I could ask for in a wife. But above all, I love you. Deeply. Passionately. Eternally. So tell me you will marry me.” His eyes glinted and there was more than desire heating his gaze. There was tenderness. And devotion. “You won’t be alone anymore. We can be our own family, where we both belong.”
Julia closed her eyes. The warmth of his words filled her with hope. This is what she had craved all her life. Someone to love who loved her for herself. Someone who understood the sense of standing on the outside of life while yearning to have a place in it. How could she let pride keep her from taking what she knew she wanted more than anything? She might be a coward, but never a fool.
Chasing Scandal Page 23