SoundsofLove

by Marilyn Kelly

  “I’m certain your mother will assist you.”

  A groan escaped. “Our tastes rarely mesh.”

  The marquis withdrew a deck of cards from his jacket pocket. “Perfection is unattainable. Agatha taught me that in two days.” His tone was flat, and Julian wondered vaguely about his experience, but not enough to pursue the matter. Noel held up the cards. “German whist. Penny a point?”

  Julian was relieved to have something to think about besides how nearly perfect Cathryn Sibley had been.

  “She might cost you the Philological Society election. How will you recover from that blow?”

  Imagining the stories circulating in London drawing rooms, Julian cringed.

  By the time the marquis’ finely sprung carriage left the main roads two days later, Noel was drinking heavily. Julian’s only defense today was the pretense of sleep, and Noel continued his drunken ramblings to a silent audience. “Women are wicked creatures, fickle and mean-spirited, silk-stockinged sirens who lure us with sexual favors, then pounce on us when we bare our souls.”

  Julian couldn’t argue with that, and his good humor was depleted. Even the sight of his ancestral home at the end of a tree-lined drive only served to remind him of the last summer he spent in the massive structure, his season of obsession with Fiona.

  Outside his mother’s chambers, Julian was greeted by a drab young woman. “The marchioness would like you to cut your hair before tomorrow’s ball, my lord. You’re to meet Miss Draper, and the marchioness wants to impress her and her brother, the Duke of Iverly.”

  Apparently he wasn’t to see Mother until he was coiffed to her satisfaction. How like her.

  The woman curtsied and turned to go back into the parlor. “There’s a barber in the village open until dark, my lord.”

  He wanted to twist her skinny neck and wondered if she knew how far she was pushing him. “Perhaps he’ll have a short wig I can purchase.”

  Fuming over the woman’s disrespect, he made his way to the stables. A young boy was the first to spot his arrival, and his eyes widened to saucers as he stumbled over his words. “My lord…we weren’t expecting you…someone will bring your mount to the door.”

  A booming voice from inside a stall called out, “What are you saying, Winston?”

  “The lord is here, Mr. Griffin,” the boy cried, with more than a hint of alarm.

  “Indeed, His presence is everywhere,” Stoney Griffin emerged with a broad smile, setting down a pitchfork outside the stall gate before glancing at the boy. His clear blue eyes followed the boy’s line of sight to Julian and he burst into greeting. “Lord Ahlquist! Good to see you.” His bow was brief.

  “Mr. Griffin,” Julian acknowledged, amused by the interaction between his old friend and the lad. Quite likely, the man knew exactly what the boy had meant.

  “I’d heard you were coming but didn’t expect to see you in the stables so soon.” He waved to the general area. “Are you needing a ride?”

  Julian nodded as he looked at the boy. “Would you saddle me a fine-spirited mount to take into town?”

  Winston burst into action. “Lady Hightower?” he asked Stoney, already making his way to a far stall.

  “Excellent choice. And a nice broken-in saddle—use one of mine, if need be.” Griffin faced Julian with a heartwarming grin. “The lord’s been living in London for several years.” Under his breath, he added so the boy wouldn’t hear, “I’ll wager your backside’s gone soft.”

  Julian roared with laughter for the first time in four days. “Join me in the village, Stoney. I can use the company.” As youths, they had promised to treat one another as equals when they were alone. Clearly, Griffin remembered the vow, and his honest humor promised to be a salve for Julian’s battered soul.

  Fifteen minutes later, the two men started along the shortcut into town. The path was broad enough for two, and they rode side by side at a slow walk.

  Stoney broke the silence. “I read about you in the papers—you and the lady and the baron. What brings you and your father to York in the thick of so much action?”

  “The baron died, and I was a witness.”

  Stoney whistled. “And the lady…?”

  “The lady is no longer my concern.” Liar!

  A disbelieving silence followed him for twenty yards. “From her writings, I thought you two well-suited.”

  “We were.” Enough about Cathryn. “The marchioness ordered me to cut my hair.”

  A shrug said Stoney agreed with Mother. “Do they wear it like that in the city?”

  “Not many, but I prefer the longer style.”

  “Women love it, eh?”

  “Some.” Cathryn favored it, or said she did. Lilith claimed to, until that last day, when she’d screamed her distaste over everything related to him. “Do you know Miss Draper?” Julian watched for the truth and his friend’s grimace told the story.

  “Perhaps a bath would help, but the woman smells like old cheese.”

  Julian barked a laugh. “I came to the right person for an opinion. No one else at Literell would have said such a thing.” A wash of relief eased his muscles. “I’ll avoid the pungent Miss Draper.”

  They rode in silence until the main road appeared ahead. “What’s your father’s story?”

  “He’s done with Fiona.”

  “She’s available?” Griffin’s eyes narrowed. He was one of the few people on earth who knew almost the entirety of the saga. “Is she still a beauty?” Julian nodded reluctantly, seeing where the conversation was leading. “Would you consider her as your countess?”

  “No.” It came out a simple statement, but the truth of it hit Julian like a pail of frigid water. Fiona had nearly forced herself on him when he lay sedated in her guestbed. Her version of honor did not mesh with his, and he finally saw that as unacceptable.

  Moreover, Fiona knew him better than most. How could she have questioned his word, even for an instant? Fiona and Melina, two tricksters he would do well to keep at arm’s length.

  “No, I don’t want her.” I want Cathryn. He shook the dangerous thought and tried to set it free, but it clung like a barnacle to the bottom of his brain.

  “The Sibley woman’s still in your blood. I’ll ask a comely girl to turn down your covers tonight—I can think of two on the estate who would fight to bed you. Blonde or brunette?”

  Julian had no desire for a woman, but he was damned tired of his own grim company, and he had a rakish reputation to uphold. “Send them both.”

  Griffin roared his approval. “Aye, Althea and Bertha will like that.” His voice deepened. “I had them that way once—best picnic ever.”

  Julian’s cock swelled for the first time in days, and he was glad for the familiar discomfort as he followed Griffin onto the main road. Obviously, Cathryn hadn’t killed his desire for other women. He was relieved to see that. Perhaps he’d best empty his balls before he returned to London. He did get cranky when he denied himself, and he needed to be his best for the Philological Society election. That gave him two weeks to enjoy Althea and Bertha’s company.

  As they entered the shopping district of Gransville, Julian took note of men’s hairstyles and saw that none had shoulder-length hair. It was a pity in this cold weather, but short-cropped hair was the current fashion. Giles frequently urged him to shorten his, but he enjoyed the notoriety of being distinctive in a crowd and felt the style suited his character and features.

  Nonetheless, after he and Stoney stabled their horses, they made their way to the barber. “I could use a shave and a trim.”

  Horace the barber had cut Julian’s hair as a toddler, and a group of village elders soon surrounded the shaving chair. Julian was relieved to see three wigs on display in the back of the shop, and he considered whether he could go through with such a ruse.

  Horace saw him glance at the hairpieces and smiled. “Those are women’s wigs, of fine quality.” Julian drew the line at donning women’s attire of any sort. A man invariably lost
stature with such a prank. Horace paused in lathering Julian’s face with warm foam and gestured to Julian’s hair. “You have all the makings of a fine man’s wig here.”

  “Your nephew in Levittown needs a wig—imagine him having an earl’s hair on his head.” A voice came from behind him—the baker, perhaps?

  “That would make his days easier,” agreed the florist.

  “What happened to your nephew?” Julian asked, dreading the answer.

  “He lost his hair to mercury treatments he was taking for a blood disease. Pale as a corpse, poor dear. “

  Julian’s broken heart sank.

  Horace stropped his razor before continuing, “He’s the sweetest boy you ever met.” Murmurs of agreement circled the room.

  “How old?” His hair was beginning to feel like a deadweight of excessive vanity.

  “Six.” The barber wiped away a tear before he lifted his razor and Julian closed his eyes to the agitated mutterings in the small space. There were a dozen men or more, all known to him in some intimate way—the blacksmith, the miller, the florist, the baker, all beholden to his family. The Ahlquists were poor landlords in being absent, with only a melancholy Elenora to represent the title. Perhaps it was time he gave them a nobler story to pass along.

  When he opened his eyes, Horace was gazing into them from an alarmingly close distance. Julian backed him off with a smile. “I’ve been thinking of trying a style similar to Lord Byron’s. Would that leave enough for a wig for the boy?”

  A round of cheers deafened him to Horace’s exact response, but the toothy grin spoke for itself. Julian heaved a sigh of resignation. It was only hair, after all.

  He stared at his reflection as the barber busied himself, and he thought about how proud Cathryn would be of him. He wished another thought filled his heart, but none came. He wanted to make Cathryn proud.

  Dammit, in spite of her treachery, he still wanted Cathryn Sibley.

  * * * * *

  Cathryn was rummaging through the pantry when she heard the front door bang shut. She froze with her hand on a jar of pickles. Glancing about the dark closet, she saw only foodstuff and pottery. The pickles would have to suffice for weaponry—not a bad choice for bumping an intruder on the head.

  “Is someone there? Lewin?” Violet’s sweet voice called out.

  Relief flooded her. “It’s only me, Vi. I’m in the kitchen.” She replaced the jar before she headed to greet her friend.

  Clattering footsteps in the dining room were grating after days of deep silence. The kitchen door burst open and Violet swept in. “Whatever are you doing here?”

  This moment came sooner than Cathryn had expected, and she struggled to keep her composure. “You heard about Percival?”

  “I’ve come to retrieve my mourning gowns before the service.” Violet set her enormous reticule on the kitchen table with a thud. “Is that why you’re here?”

  “I have no plans to attend the funeral.” Tears welled in her eyes, just when she’d thought herself completely dry. “Julian and I had a terrible row…at Gorham House.”

  Lavender arms surrounded her, and Cathryn allowed herself the comfort of a knowing friend’s embrace. “Percival’s death must have been an awful shock, but the inquest proved Lord Ahlquist innocent.”

  “Thank heavens.” Cathryn backed away and reached for her handkerchief.

  “The Burns likely have a magistrate in their pocket to move so fast.” Vi opened her bag and reached inside. “Have you seen today’s papers?”

  She didn’t want to think of the scandal waging outside her doorstep. Coming to terms with her loss was enough. “I haven’t left the house in two days. I know there’s a reporter crouched in Mrs. Lang’s stairwell.”

  “And another at the Edisons’. I was approached as soon as my coach stopped.” She set a stack of papers on the table. “No one seems to know you’re here.”

  “We can’t stay here long. The entire house will be an icebox in another day, if no coal comes. I thought to go to my father’s until we secure new staff.”

  “Pardon my saying so, but you don’t resemble a baroness at the moment. Let’s take the back alley to the corner for a warm bite.” Cathryn’s hand flew to her loose hair. It needed a brushing, and her swollen eyes must look horrid. Perhaps this wasn’t a bad disguise.

  Full of beef stew and a hot pot of tea, Cathryn was better prepared when Violet asked the inevitable, “What did you fight about?”

  Clutching her cup, Cat confessed. “You remember Dr. Kinsley?”

  Violet dabbed her mouth with a napkin before answering flatly. “What of him?”

  A chill swept though their cozy booth. “I had one brief…encounter with him, a few days before Geoffrey passed.” She shuddered at the unwelcome memory.

  The gaping look on Violet’s face was unreadable. Shock, but not disgust.

  “I lied about it to Julian.” The whole truth. “Twice. The first time I forgot. I know that sounds horrid, but…the timing was off.” Mustn’t give too many details. “The second time my mind was in a tangle over his intimate questions, and I told half a story to save my pride. But Percival had his revenge in the end.”

  “He told Julian?”

  “With his dying breath.” She finished her cup and sat in silence, still unable to fathom her sister-in-law’s true feelings from her blank expression. “Now you’ve heard all the details. I hope you don’t think me too terrible.”

  Violet shook her head as if to clear it. “I think you wonderfully human.” She sipped her tea with a pensive air, then shook her head again and smiled. “Cat, you did nothing Julian wouldn’t have done. Years without a partner, with no chance of recovery…he would have shagged the nurse.” Covering her mouth, she began to laugh quietly.

  Cathryn joined Violet’s giggles. “I agree. My ten minutes of sedated pleasure would barely qualify as a transgression in his world.” Indignation rose, and she fought to keep her voice low, although the tavern was nearly empty this mid-afternoon. “He thought to seduce me on our second encounter, and I am a noblewoman of spotless reputation.” That had a hollow ring after her recent confession. “Assuming the doctor hasn’t bragged about his conquests—now that’s a chilling thought.”

  Violet gestured to the serving girl for more tea. “Even knowing of your marriage contract to Hedges, a fellow peer of the realm, Julian pursued you. What does that say of his honor?”

  A deep sigh escaped. “The man is a rake.” A stunningly handsome, virile, charming, generous rake.

  “There is also his temper.”

  Cathryn had heard enough about Julian’s faults. “I’ve sifted each act of violence carefully, Vi, and found more than adequate provocation. I was proud he defended my character with Hedges.” Her voice rose, and Violet placed a comforting hand over hers. “Even I acted violently and was glorified for it. In normal circumstances, Julian is wonderful to the extreme.”

  Julian’s finer aspects filled Cathryn’s mind. She loved this man desperately. Neither of them was perfect, but they were perfect together.

  The girl arrived to refresh their cups, and Violet waited until the dishes had been cleared before asking, “What do you want to do now?”

  There was only one answer. “I want him back.” Her voice dropped lower. “Now that I’ve had him, no other will do.”

  “You’d best act quickly, before some wily female snatches him up from under you.”

  Fiona, perhaps. Another chilling thought. “I need to craft my apology carefully, so we reunite as equals.” She picked up her cup and gazed at the remnants of tea leaves clustered in the bottom, wishing she knew something of divination. The leaves congregated in a round shape reminiscent of a child’s head, and she gasped. “I believe I have something he’ll want very badly.” She’d never had such powerful flashes of intuition before, as if the universe itself was screaming a truth at her. “I may well carry his heir.”

  * * * * *

  Julian’s head felt noticeably lighter as he
rode back to Literell, and even his spirit felt a tad brighter, as it had after the day at the poorhouse. Imagining his hair made into a wig for a needy child, his chest swelled with pride. Several pints of country ale with Griffin and the men of the village had washed the rest of the afternoon in a pleasant glow. In spite of the cold wind, he was warm and much improved from three hours before.

  “Will you allow another personal question, Julian?” Griffin asked in a concerned tone reserved for old friends.

  “You may ask,” Julian said noncommittally, his brief contentment set aside as he waited for the inevitable.

  “What happened with the lady?”

  “She lied to me.”

  “Ah, I see,” he said in a tone that suggested he saw nothing. “Why?”

  The question surprised Julian. Not about what? but why? He pondered the times Cathryn had spoken of her affair with the doctor. Why had she lied to him? The first time he’d caught her off guard and she’d forgotten the brief incident. Lord knew there were women he’d forgotten.

  But the second time she’d lied? She’d taken a dose of laudanum, and she’d been very relaxed. Perhaps she believed what she said later, He’d been dead to the entire household for over a year. Those words haunted him.

  He turned to Stoney with a shrug. “Why did she lie? I think perhaps she believed what she was saying at the time, even though her deception was clear afterwards.”

  “Then it wasn’t truly a lie, was it?”

  Yes, it was. “She shagged her husband’s doctor while her husband still lived.”

  “Ah, I see.” He sniffed. “I thought the quality didn’t care about such affairs.”

  That was often true. One need only look to Noel for an example. “I expect fidelity in my marriage.”

  “Even if she fails to meet your needs?”

  “Yes.” His response was automatic, but Griffin’s disbelieving stare made him chuckle. “No. But Cathryn would have met my needs.”

  “If she’s as passionate as that, did her husband meet her needs?”