The Romantic

by Madeline Hunter

  He did not speak for a few miles. She did not pretend it was his normal silence. Despite their embrace, she sensed his disquiet. The air inside the coach trembled.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “Thank you for hitting him on the head. It made quick work of it for us.”

  “Catherine?”

  “She is on her way to her daughter.”

  “Will I really have to return to testify? I do not see how I can.”

  “Fletcher saw enough to put Jones and Henley on a ship to New South Wales. If you testify, it would only complicate things, since the innkeeper and Fletcher think you are Mrs. Monley. You will have to write to Dante and explain that you used his wife’s late mother’s name, I expect.”

  “It was the first one that came to my head at the first inn. Yes, I should probably explain that.”

  Their conversation did nothing to clear the air. He still sat there darkly displeased, the depths churning.

  “Are you going to scold me?” she asked. “You do not have to. I already know what you want to say. That I was reckless, and it was dangerous, and that—”

  “You cannot even begin to know what I want to say, madame.”

  She expected him to remove his embracing arm. When he did not, she waited for the brittle vehemance of his comment to pass. After a few more miles, the silent turmoil seemed to ease.

  “Do you think Jones has been our shadow the whole way, Julian?”

  “Unfortunately, yes. Glasbury must have guessed that you would seek out Cleo to have someone to support your accusations.”

  “He has not only been following me, then. He has been one step ahead of me all along. For years.” A larger worry instantly occupied her. “If Mr. Jones followed, Glasbury knows that you have been with me since we left the cottage.”

  “Mr. Jones probably sent him reports by mail. That is the least of our concerns, however.”

  She did not agree. Her relief at being saved was instantly drowned by the worry that had sent her off to Liverpool. Not for her own safety, but for Julian’s.

  If Mr. Jones had sent reports, the earl may have assumed the truth about those nights at the inns.

  Mr. Jones might be in gaol, but there would be others taking his place. Glasbury was rich, and such men could always find those who would do their bidding for the right pay.

  She fell asleep in the coach. When she woke it was late afternoon, and they were stopping in a small village in front of an inn.

  “We will stay here in Bruton tonight,” Julian said. “With equipage like this we will be noticed wherever we go, but there are fewer here to do the noticing.”

  He took two rooms for them. As soon as their trunks were deposited and the second level of the inn was quiet, he came into her chamber.

  The expression on his face made her swallow hard.

  “I knew it was too much to hope that you would not scold eventually.”

  “You have made it clear that I do not have the right to that, or anything else. You are also smart enough to know the risks of your plan. You did it anyway. I just want to know why.”

  “I already told you. I cannot beat him. He will win, one way or the other. I decided that my first plan was my best one.”

  “That does not explain why you left before I returned.”

  “I chose not to delay.”

  “Why?”

  “I am not going to be questioned like a criminal. Tell me I was stupid if you want, but do not interrogate me.”

  “I am not interrogating you. I am not speaking as your solicitor, damn it. I am a man to whom you gave yourself, and I want to know why you chose to flee without so much as a word of farewell.”

  She had never seen his expression so dark and hard. It affected his whole being and the entire chamber. She half expected lightning bolts to fly from his head.

  “I do not think Cleo killed herself. That changes everything, Julian. I looked in my heart and admitted Glasbury could do that. To her. To me. To …” She busied herself unpacking toiletries in order to hide how the last thought distressed her.

  “To me,” he said.

  “I did not know we were being followed. I thought if I just left, disappeared, that …”

  She felt him behind her.

  “You thought that I would not be harmed.”

  “If you are now, I will never forgive myself.”

  He turned her around and gazed in her eyes. He still looked angry, but no longer hard. “All of your life you have done this, Pen, and you must stop it.”

  “I realize I have not always been a paragon of good judgment, Julian, but you are not being fair. I did not think this little journey would be dangerous. Not yet.”

  “I do not speak of the danger, or of your judgment over the years, but of how you sacrifice your own security and happiness to protect others. To spare your family, you did not divorce. You even married Glasbury so that others would not be hurt.”

  The last accusation shocked her. “I did not marry him for that reason.”

  “Didn’t you? Did your mother never explain the large sum that Glasbury gave her? It kept things afloat for several more years when the family finances were a disaster.”

  “She explained no such thing. She did nosuch thing. I married him because I was young and stupid. He was an earl, and such things matter to ignorant girls.”

  “Your mother threw you at him. Even your brothers did not like it.”

  She had to take deep breaths to contain a spinning indignation. “You are lying. You are—”

  “I have seen the accounts, Pen. Nor do I think you were completely ignorant.”

  “What a horrid thing to say. How dare you accuse my mother of … of …”

  She came close to smacking him.

  Instead she grabbed a shawl and ran from the room.

  She flew down the stairs and out of the inn, mind red with resentment. She strode down the street, impatient to find some privacy where she could curse Julian for impugning her family. Shops and homes blurred past as she mentally put a certain man in his place, and castigated him for such bold and unfair accusations.

  She found her way to the churchyard where the village eyes would not see her. She paced out her anger amidst the grave markers and along a little garden’s paths.

  Slowly the fury abated. A miserable fact kept blunting her righteous denials.

  Julian would haveseen the accounts. As family solicitor, he would have access to all the financial records, even the ones from when she got engaged to Glasbury.

  She sank down on a bench beside a bed of dying plants. Confusion replaced her anger, and sadness her indignation.

  A shadow fell on the ground in front of her. Julian had followed her.

  She glanced to where he stood at the other end of the bench.

  “Mama did speak well of Glasbury. She encouraged the match even before I came out,” she admitted. “When I suggested that I would perhaps like to wait until my second season to decide, she said we could not afford that. I knew how much my presentation cost, and my season. She often spoke of my father’s impracticality, and how we lived on credit.”

  “And your duty. I am sure she often spoke of that, too.”

  “Yes. Often.” She looked over at him. “I will admit that I ignored my misgivings because of all that. If what you say is true, about the money, it is not so unusual. She did not know what he was, Julian. She could not have suspected.”

  “I am sure she did not suspect. It was not your mother’s motivations that I spoke of, but yours. Now, once more, you have taken a path to protect others. Your family. Me. It is a sign of your good heart, Pen, but I am very angry. I will decide for myself what I will risk and what cost I will pay.”

  He reached in his coat and withdrew a stack of folded papers. He set them down on the bench.

  “What are those?”

  “Your future, if you want it. Bank drafts and letters of introduction. You can go to America, but not destitute. It is all there, even
the means of passage.”

  She opened the documents. The bank drafts and letters were signed by her brothers and her dearest friends. There was more than enough to live comfortably for years. She need only go to Liverpool and sail away to find herself safe, at least for a while. One sheet was a letter from St. John giving her free passage on any of his ships.

  She unfolded the final letter.

  “What is this, Julian?”

  “A letter of transfer.”

  “Your bank and your account? So much? I do not need it, dear friend. Not with the other—”

  “That one is not for you, but for me.”

  His response stunned her.

  “I cannot permit this, Julian. I do not need the protection you think to give. I am not helpless in any case, and especially not with these drafts and letters.”

  “It is not your choice to make, but mine.”

  “I truly do not need your protection on the voyage, especially if it is with one of St. John’s captains. You must not remove yourself from London for so long, just to see me established in America safely. You would be gone for months.”

  “Longer, I expect. Unless Glasbury dies.”

  The calm resolve of his voice delayed her comprehension of what he was saying. The implications of his words astonished her.

  He did not intend merely to see her safely to America.

  He planned to stay there, too.

  “This is foolhardy, Julian. What will you do in America? Their laws may derive from ours, but I doubt they are the same. Will you become a clerk again, and start over?”

  “I will do what I have to do. I will become a fisherman or farmer if necessary.”

  “You are not being very sensible at all.”

  “I am being most sensible.”

  “No, you are not. You are being honorable in the same way that honor leads men to duels. You feel responsible for me now, because of what has happened. The result is that the ruin I feared you would face here will follow you to America, and be worse there.”

  “I told you that it is my decision whether to pay the cost.”

  “We will both pay. Do you think to continue an affair? If I use these letters, everyone will know who I am. I will still be a married woman. We will be seen as adulterers. I doubt that is more acceptable in America than here. Less so, to hear Bianca speak of their mores.”

  “I am not doing this so that we can continue an affair.

  You can ignore me on the crossing. You can refuse to receive me in America. You can never speak to me again.”

  “I do not want you to do this,” she said firmly. It was a lie. Her heart grabbed at the notion that she would not be alone, that he would be there with her.

  He did not see her thoughts, but he heard her words. His expression sharpened. His isolating reserve fell like a barrier.

  “I am still coming.”

  “I can take care of myself.”

  “Normally, I would agree. However, your situation is far from normal, and I will be watching your back now.”

  His voice was calm. Too steady.

  Suddenly she understood.

  He was not joining her because of the passion of the last few days, but because of the friendship of many years. Not because of obligations created in bed, but because of a chivalry learned as a boy.

  She gazed down at the letter of transfer in her hand. He was going to throw over his whole life. Walk away from it.

  There was only one reason he would take such a rash, irrevocable step.

  “You, too, think he had Cleo killed, don’t you?” she said.

  “Yes.”

  “You do not believe I will be safe in America, either. You once said Glasbury could follow me there, and that is what you think will happen.”

  “I expect he never forgave the humiliation of your leaving. Also, he wants his heir. Such men always do. I think he will do whatever is necessary to have one.”

  Whatever is necessary. Force his countess to return, or find a way to have a new countess.

  “When did you conclude he was capable of this, Julian?”

  “After I met with him in London.”

  Before that first kiss, then.

  “Julian, I want to ask Mr. Hampton something. Can you be him again, for just a short while? I need his advice, and I want to know that it will be objective, and the advice he would give any woman in my situation.”

  “I will do my best, madame.”

  He smiled as he donned his professional tone. However, that smile gave his eyes a warmth that had her thinking about things she had never thought about with Mr. Hampton.

  “Then, tell me, Mr. Hampton: What do you think is my best course of action?”

  “I first must know what resolution you seek.”

  She had to look in her soul, past the confusion of the last weeks, to find the answer.

  “I want to stop living like this, being free but not free. I want to never think of him again, nor have to. And I want to be done with this fear that I have now, that he will harm me or those I care about if he cannot get his way.”

  “You will have none of that if you go to America.”

  No, she would not. Even with Julian there shielding her, she would not.

  “How do I get what I want, Mr. Hampton?”

  “You discovered the answer yourself, before I became Julian to you again.”

  “You mean that I force his hand, and give him easy cause to divorce me.”

  “He will then have what he wants, which is the ability to remarry and sire a son. You will have what you want. As always, of course, the greater cost will be to you as the woman. However, it does offer a solution to him that has few risks.”

  “Few risks for him, not for me. What if he is not amenable to this solution?”

  “You are safer in London than anywhere. You have friends and family and a household to protect you. You need never be alone. If the world knows you are involved with another man, suspicion will fall on Glasbury if you are harmed. He would have to be very stupid to hurt you instead of taking the easy way out, and he is not a stupid man.”

  She listened while Mr. Hampton laid out the logic of his thoughts. Something in his eyes left her wondering if Julian would have given the same advice.

  “However, madame, I must add that if you do this, it must be immediately, and very publicly. I also need to say that there is no path that guarantees what you want. None that absolutely secures your safety. If there were, I would demand you take it instead of leaving the decision to you. Of the two facing you now, however, I think this is more likely to achieve what you seek.”

  “And my good friend Julian. What does he advise?”

  He did not answer at once. His silence held a moody turbulence, as if his soul fought a battle over the answer.

  “Julian hopes that for once in your life you will choose what is best for you, and not for him or anyone else.”

  That did not tell her much. His eyes hinted at words not spoken, and even appeared a little sad.

  Nor could she make this choice as selfishly as he requested. Either path affected him. Both would cost him dearly.

  She looked down at the letter of transfer. Both would cost him dearly, but one would cost him everything.

  Suddenly the danger of staying in England did not frighten her so much. She knew what she had to do.

  She would follow Mr. Hampton’s advice. She would take this battle to Glasbury and fight it on ground she knew.

  Then she would hand the earl an easy victory.

  She rose and walked around the bench to him. “Mr. Hampton, it appears that I am in need of a lover for an affair of convenience.”

  “I think that is a wise decision.” He paused. “Alas, there really is not sufficient time for you to conduct due testing on all the likely prospects.”

  His reference to her silly list made her laugh. That made him become Julian again. He took her hand in his and regarded her warmly.

  “May I offer myself
, Pen? It does not have to be an affair in reality, if you prefer not.”

  It would take a stronger person than she to resist indulging in the crime, especially since she was going to reap the scandal anyway. Despite his words, his gaze and aura were already shamelessly seducing her. His touch might appear discreet, but he managed to make her heart flutter with anticipation.

  No, passion and undying love were not the same things. But temporary passion with warm affection could be very nice.

  “Are you certain that you have assessed the cost, Julian? Are you very sure that you want the role?”

  He raised her hand to his lips. His breath and kiss sent glorious shivers of excitement up her arm. “I would be honored.”

  chapter 18

  Pen and Julian instructed St. John’s coachman to make a leisurely pace to London.

  They did not hide their identities. They stayed in large towns at the best accommodations. Julian always took two rooms, but the servants would not miss that the lady had no woman servant, and that her gentleman companion was too familiar with her. On two occasions Julian did not use his bed at all, a point the maids would notice.

  Two days out of London, they saw the first indication that their behavior had become known. Julian procured a copy of the Times.On the back page, amidst the news of the counties, they found a short notice from “an occasional correspondent.”

  A certain lady of high station was seen in Warwick, staying at the King’s Royal Arms. Her only companion was a gentleman highly esteemed at Chancery whose reputation has been unexceptionable. On last hearing the lady’s husband, a peer, was residing at his home in London, long anticipating his wife’s rejoining him there.

  “Rejoining him. That last sentence points a fairly direct finger,” Pen said.

  “The Times correspondents pride themselves in choosing their words carefully and economically.” Julian set aside the paper.

  “Do you think we will be met at the city’s edge by the bishop and barred from entering?”

  “I doubt it will be so dramatic.”

  “Once we are in the city, how bold must we be?”

  “Bold enough that your servants know more than a discreet woman would want. Are you ready for the scandal, Pen?”