Which certainly accounted for Jason’s odd words to her at the Mablethorpe ball, yet somehow she’d doubted him. Jason was just like all men, she’d thought. Ready to flit to the next flower at the first flip of the hip. And she’d been so tail over teakettle thinking about Darius that she hadn’t felt more than a fleeting twinge at Longmere’s defection. Thank God it had been a sham. She would not wish the Countess of Charlbury on any man.
That was jealousy talking. Juliana made a mental note to convey her thanks to Longmere and returned her attention to her friends, who had gone silent, each once again giving her the accusing stare usually reserved for thieves and murderers. “For heaven’s sake, stop swallowing your tongues and just say it!” Juliana cried. Convince me I’m a fool, crazy as a loon.
“Fetch told us what he said,” Cecy confided. “And it’s true. Holly and me, before we met you, we’d fallen near as low as we could go, but a step above walking the streets, giving ourselves to any Jack-a-dandy who had a schilling in his pocket. It wasn’t what we wanted, but that’s how it was. Until you came along and gave us a chance to be something more. And then when I was hurt, you came running and took me back—”
“And when the new world you made for me went awry,” Holly said, “you didn’t rant nor rave nor turn your back. You, Cecy, Belle—you were all there to pick me up and give me a third chance, when what had I ever done for any of you except bombard you with the sharp edge of my tongue?”
“And me,” Belle said. “Gabriel brought me to you in the middle of the night, daughter of a viscount thoroughly ruined through what I hope was no fault of my own. But it wouldn’t have mattered if I’d had men by the dozens; you took me in, clothed me, fed me, taught me what I needed to survive in the harsh world into which I’d fallen.”
“Lord, Lady R,” Cecy exclaimed, “you’ve not got the sense God gave a goose. You forgive us all, help us all, even love us all. And you can’t forgive yourself?”
“You had no idea your marriage would be so different,” Belle said.
“None of it was your fault,” Holly added with considerable emphasis.
“I should have left him, gone running home . . .”
“No!” they chorused.
“You were so young,” Holly said, “with no one to turn to. When I was in trouble, look at the army I had behind me. “The three of you, Nick, Mr. Wolfe, Lord Ashford. Not to mention all Nick’s men. And Royce agreeing to Nick’s deal when he knew exactly what damaged goods he was getting.”
“And now it’s our turn to help you,” Belle said. “We’ve come up with a plan.”
“A good one, we think,” Cecy said, her green eyes willing Juliana to listen.
“Nobody knows better than me about demons,” Holly said. “And to lose them, we think you need to go way. Some place you’ve never been before.”
“Some place you don’t own the house, the land, the village, nor the ship,” Belle explained.
“Some place Mr. Wolfe’s never been before either,” Cecy added, “though Nick tells me that’s a bit of a challenge.”
“China, Egypt, the Americas?” Juliana ventured, her lips tilting into a wan smile.
“Nick set Guy Fallon to the problem,” Cecy said, “and he suggested something simple, like the Cotswolds or the Lake District. He said if it was some scenic place without a mill, a mine, a ship, a bank, or grand acreage, it’s likely Mr. Wolfe’s passed it by.”
Juliana didn’t try to hide her sudden chortle. Nick Black had read his friend well. Darius had dedicated his life to the Rivenhall fortune. Respite—except perhaps the moments spent in his Jewel’s arms—had never been part of the equation.
The Cotswolds. Not an arduous journey. She could use the excuse that she was considering buying a country cottage without raising a slew of eyebrows. And taking a repairing lease from the relentless round of the Season was not unknown. In fact, the sheer temptation of escape from both London and Richmond shone before her like a lighthouse casting its glow over stormy seas.
Yet neutral ground seemed an unlikely panacea for hauntings so deep-seated they continually overwhelmed love. And yes, no matter what she had tried to name it through the years, what she felt for Darius was love. No matter how tainted, there could be no other word for it.
So she would go to the Cotswolds . . .
If only to hide.
“Please ask Mr. Fallon to look for a suitable cottage in the Cotswolds,” Juliana told Cecy. “And tell him I am grateful for his help.” Since Nick Black’s man of business was second only to Darius Wolfe in performing his job, Juliana had no qualms about trusting him. “And,” she added softly, “my thanks to all of you. This is the moment I truly needed friends.”
Tears misted four pairs of eyes as Belle, Cecilia, and Holly rushed to embrace their former mentor. “This too shall pass,” Cecy, the preacher’s daughter murmured. “This too shall pass.”
Chapter Sixteen
“Lord Ashford, Mr. Nicholas Black, Mr. Marcus Black,” Penniman intoned.
Though startled by the unexpected invasion of three gentlemen into her drawing room, Juliana had risen, curtsied, and was caught in mid-smile before the significance of her butler’s words finally registered. Turning to the younger Mr. Black, she dropped a second, more deliberate curtsy. “Mr. Marcus Black, a special welcome to my house. You have chosen wisely.” Although she had a qualm or two about violating his youthful dignity, Juliana stepped forward and hugged Fetch tight. Not that she should think of him as Fetch any more—he had outgrown running errands in a bawdy house long since.
“Gentlemen,” she said with her most brilliant smile, “to what do I owe this honor?”
“We’ve come to tell you that Fallon has found a cottage for you,” Nick said. “Thatched roof, climbing roses, a bubbling brook running through the garden, or so he tells me.”
“A true love nest,” Gabriel offered with a wicked grin.
Color stained Juliana’s cheeks. Blushing at her age, after all she’d been through. Yet there it was, plus a flash of heat shooting through her that she could only pray was not obvious to her visitors.
“Give over, my lord,” the newly made Marcus Black chided.
“Our apologies, Lady Rivenhall,” Nick said. “The truth is, our wives have asked us to add a few words to their pleas.”
Juliana schooled her face to a pose as neutral as Nick Black’s. Whatever they wished to say, she must not show them how much it hurt. Or possibly inspired her to fury. They had a right, these three, as much right as Belle, Cecilia, and Holly, for they had all been there when it counted. All helped deal with the crises the four women from the Aphrodite Academy had faced over the last few years. As had Royce Kincade, on his final voyage as captain of Venturer, who could only be with them in spirit.
“Very well,” Juliana said, folding her hands in her lap, chin set for any blow that might come. “Say what you’ve come to say.”
As one, Gabriel and Marcus turned to Nick, whose carefully controlled features seemed to waver a moment, as if this responsibility was far beyond his customary field of interest, a challenge even he would prefer to avoid.
“Let us speak as the friends we are,” he said. “Direct and truthful, even if it hurts.” His gray eyes skewered Juliana from a face that still struck terror into hearts from Mayfair to the East End, even though he had distanced himself from criminal activities after moving to Princes Street. “If I understand the situation correctly, Darius Wolfe has made you several offers of marriage which you have refused.”
“True,” Juliana whispered.
“Yet according to my wife, you love him. Is that so?”
“Yes.” Spoken so faintly the three men could scarcely hear her.
“You can’t really think what happened in the past matters,” Marcus broke in, unable to contain himself. “That’s just not right!”
A glare from Nick and former Fetch subsided into his chair, looking grumpy.
“He’s gone to you many times.” Nick con
tinued his all-too-revealing summary of Juliana’s rejection of Darius’s suit. “And each time you’ve sent him away.”
“Yes.”
“He won’t come again. You know that.”
“Yes.”
Juliana’s agonized whisper set the younger Black off again. “You have to send for him, my lady. He has to come, doesn’t he? Whether he wants to or not, ’cause he works for you.”
But she didn’t want him to come to her that way!
Yet Nick Black was right. Darius would never come to her again as a suitor. If their torment was to be ended, she must find the way.
“I need time to think on it,” Juliana told them. “I will go the cottage as soon as may be arranged, and I will either find a way to settle this or I will admit an end to my relationship with Mr. Wolfe for all time. I most sincerely thank you for your help in finding a cottage and for your advice.”
Solemnly, the men nodded and took their leave, as a horrid specter rose up before her. If her impasse with Darius had no solution, she would be asking Guy Fallon for far more than finding a cottage. He would have to find her a new man of business.
The Cotswolds
Frowning, Juliana dragged her gaze away from the scenery outside the carriage window, which seemed to become more breathtakingly beautiful with each succeeding mile. Green rolling hills, meandering streams, prosperous farms, stone cottages with thatched roofs, and flowers everywhere. No matter which direction the eye turned, a landscape worthy of being immortalized on canvas spread out before her.
And yet something was wrong.
Of course something’s wrong, foolish twit. Something’s been wrong since the day you married.
Not that! Juliana snapped back at her inner voice. It’s just . . . for every mile we leave the bustle of town behind, I should feel better. The beauty of the countryside should soothe. The tranquility of it all. And yet for every turn of the wheel, I grow more agitated. How can I settle matters with Darius if I succumb to a fit of the vapors and want to do nothing but bury myself in the country and never be seen in London again?
Have you learned nothing from your friends?
No doubt about it, her inner self was fast losing its temper. And surely her inner voice made more sense. Urging her to put her guilt and fear behind her, seize the opportunity for joy while it was still available.
But what if it wasn’t? What if she had already slammed that door closed forever?
What if Darius didn’t want her?
What if he only wanted her because he no longer had La Charlbury yet still wanted a family?
What if they were “settling” for each other only because they had once been bound by the uglier side of love?
No-o-o! Demons still roamed her mind, digging their claws deep, refusing to let go. But she would not join the long list of lovers who had become famous only because their stories ended in tragedy. She would not be Juliet, Eloise, or Isolde. She would not allow her life to end that way. Or with nothing more than a whimper.
Somehow she would find a solution. Learn to accept what she could not change.
Yet in spite of her determination, her heart raced faster with every turn of the wheel, her breath grew short, the sunny day turned dark and threatening.
Darius? This time if I call, will you come? Or have I played that card one too many times?
There was no answer. Not from the lowing cattle outside or the baaing sheep. Not from the rumble of the wheels, the bumps in the road, the rattle of harness, or the coachman’s horn blowing up for the tolls. No answer, no easy solution. No reassurance that her friends’ well-meant plan would work.
Juliana searched her soul, and found nothing but silence.
The cottage was everything Guy Fallon had promised. Constructed of pale gold stone and topped by a thick thatched roof, it was decorated with both window boxes of geraniums and baskets of petunias hanging from the rafters. Behind the house the cottage boasted a more extensive garden, both flowers and vegetables, running all the down to a fern-edged brook bubbling along with the heavy flow of spring rains. Clearly, the place had both a conscientious owner and a meticulous caretaker. In spite of her continuing qualms, Juliana could not help but be charmed. Surely, surely, here she could find the path to happiness that had been lost so long ago.
For three days she hibernated, becoming accustomed to her surroundings, including the village only a half mile down the road. And day after day her mind refused to settle, refused to be soothed by the peace and beauty around her. She came to the belated realization that she was decimating the daisy garden, doing countless rounds of “He will come, He won’t come.” The answer never seemed to come out right. Perhaps she should begin with “He won’t come” . . .
Idiot!
On the evening of the third day, she sat down at the writing desk, adjusted her brace of candles, sharpened her quill, fussed with the paper . . . and discarded six versions of her letter to Darius before she finally settled for: “I have gone to the Cotswolds to fight my demons and find I need help. I cannot do this alone. Will you come to me, Darius? I need you.”
Would he come? More importantly, if he came, could she do as promised and set her demons aside? Could she at least pretend to be whole again? Pretend until the longed-for day came when it was true?
Surely if she believed, truly believed, that she could live a normal life . . .?
Juliana added her direction to the letter than paused over the signature, frowning at the page. A smile tilted the corners of her lips as she wrote, “Your Jewel.” Yes, that said more than all the rest.
It was done. She folded the paper, sealed it with hot wax, and addressed it. On the morrow she would hire a courier to deliver it directly into Darius’s hands. And then she could only pray.
Expressionless, Darius regarded the letter in his hand—the one with the handwriting he knew so well—as if it were a cobra poised to strike. He’d known she was gone from London, of course. It was his job to know. And inquires had made it clear that their mutual friends were involved in some kind of plot. So a communication from his Jewel was not exactly a surprise. But the damage done by the past was great. The letter could contain anything, from hope for the fulfillment of his dreams to termination of his long years of service. The hands of the man known for his nerves of steel trembled as he broke the seal.
She needed him. What in the name of God and the devil did that mean? Of course she needed him. She’d always needed him. Always would. He ran her empire, did he not?
Darius read the few short words again, his eyes finally going as far as the signature. Your Jewel. Hmm, that was better. “Finley!” he bawled to his startled secretary. “I’m going away for a few days. There’s business to be settled in the Cotswolds.”
“The Cotswolds, sir?”
Ignoring Finley’s amazement that his employer had any business whatsoever in the bucolic beauty of the Cotswolds, Darius added, “I may be gone some time. I will write to inform you of the date of my return.”
And with that, Darius Wolfe walked out of the offices that controlled the vast Rivenhall holdings and went home to pack, ordering his coachman to be ready for a journey at first light. But as the carriage rolled along the coaching road to the northwest, Darius had not gone twenty miles before doubts descended. Did she mean what he hoped she meant? Or was he reading too much into her words? Was it merely Juliana turning to him in her need, or was his Jewel at long last turning to him as lover and husband?
Geoff, friend or no, I wish you were here so I could wring your neck!
It was late afternoon when Juliana heard the sound of an approaching coach. He’d come. Darius had come.
She should have known he would, yet no amount of common sense had kept her from fearing that he would not.
Hiding behind a drapery, she peered out the window. Oh dear God, it was true. He was here! Every sturdy dark inch of him, striding up the gravel path . . .
The knocker sounded. Juliana stood, smoothing her skirt with q
uivering hands as her housekeeper answered the door.
Steps.
“Mr. Wolfe, my lady.” The housekeeper withdrew, softly closing the door behind her.
“Darius.” Juliana inclined her head, every thought, every carefully planned word flown from her brain. Blindly, she found her way to the sofa and sank into it. He settled into a comfortably upholstered chair across from her.
“Are you all right?” he asked, his face displaying the concern she knew so well, whether it was merely a problem with one of her girls or something as soul-shaking as settling the rest of their lives.
“I–I feared you wouldn’t come.” She overrode his instant protest, adding, I know, I know. You always come, but I have treated you so badly. You have every right to turn your back on me.”
“Good God, Jewel, are you apologizing? After I betrothed myself to another woman?”
Juliana considered. “That was rather bad of you,” she agreed, “but it’s not as if I had not asked—nay, demanded—to be taught a lesson.”
“I think you have had rather too many lessons, Jewel. That is the whole point, is it not?” Dark brows raised, he caught and held her gaze.
Juliana bit her lip. “I have been here long enough to know this cottage is not haunted, though I’m not certain what will happen when we are together— If, that is,” she said after a gulp of air, “you want us to be together.”
“Foolish creature.” Darius moved to sit beside her, keeping his hands at his sides, though his eyes gleamed with the promise of very special moments to come. “But first . . .” He allowed close to half a minute to pass, giving her time to take him in, feel his presence, before with a barely audible huff of relief—or was it wary hope?—he gathered her in, tight to his side. The soft feel of her, her warmth, her scent, her very being, threatened to scatter his reason to the winds, but Darius stuck to his purpose. They had no future else.
In silence, they clung to each other, the moments ticking by, their pasts swirling around them, still threatening to destroy the fragility of their reunion. A full five minutes passed before Darius said, “No matter what the Church of England thinks on the subject of such popish notions as demons, I believe we must perform an exorcism. A ritual casting-out. Therefore . . .”
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