by Mary Balogh
“Hello, Jule,” he said when he and his brother strode into the hall on their arrival and Julia happened to be crossing it on the way to the library and some needed solitude. He took her hands in his and kissed her cheek. “By Jove, but you look appetizing in black. Doesn’t she, Les?”
Lesley smiled and nodded his head more times than were strictly necessary. “Yes, she does, Freddie,” he said. “Yes, you do, Jule.”
“I am in mourning,” she said pointedly. “For Grandpapa.”
“And so you are,” Frederick said, squeezing her hands and looking down at her from lazy, handsome eyes. “The old codger finally worried himself into the grave, did he? You miss him, do you?”
“Do you, Jule?” Lesley asked in his gentle voice.
“Yes, I do,” she said indignantly. “I loved him, Freddie.”
“Ah,” he said, looking amused. He winked at her. “I always like them angry, Jule, and it never takes much effort, you know.”
“But he don’t mean to make you angry,” Lesley said. “Do you, Freddie? You loved Uncle, Jule. Sorry he’s gone.”
“Thank you, Les,” she said, releasing her hands from Frederick’s and setting them on Lesley’s shoulders so that she could kiss his cheek. He was perhaps an inch shorter than she and at least six shorter than his brother. She smiled at him, making sure that Frederick was looking at her as she did so.
He chuckled.
They had to wait another two days for the remaining members of the family to arrive. But Aunt Sylvia and Uncle Paul Craybourne, sister and brother-in-law of the late countess, had to come all the way from Yorkshire. They brought their daughters, Susan and Viola, with them. They brought their son, Augustus, too—always Julia’s favorite.
And so finally they were all gathered at Primrose Park and the final business connected with the passing of the old earl could be proceeded with.
The family assembled in the drawing room for the reading of the will, the library being a little too small to accommodate so many in comfort. There was a great deal of shuffling around, most of it occasioned by Aunt Sarah, who believed that they should be seated somehow according to their rank in the family. Her son, as the new Earl of Beaconswood, should of course sit in the center of the front row and as his mother and widow of the late earl’s only brother, she should sit beside him.
“After all, dear,” she was heard to say to her son, “if your poor papa had survived your uncle, then I would have been the countess.”
But then Aunt Eunice stirred up trouble by pointing out that Aunt Millie, as the elder of their dear deceased brother’s sisters, should have the place of honor, or at least the place beside dear Daniel. And perhaps she, as the other sister, should sit at his other side.
The new earl settled the matter by seating his aunts together in the front row with his mother beside them, while he took a chair behind the three of them next to his sister. Anyone who was observing the incident would have concluded that he had passed his first test as head of the family with a cool head and good sense. Frederick Sullivan, lounging against the pianoforte and not yet seated, caught his eye, grinned, and winked at him.
Julia sat in the back row of chairs, between Viola Craybourne and Susan, Lady Temple. Viola was three years younger than Julia, Susan one year older. They also had been her playmates in former years, her friends more recently.
The servants, standing respectfully behind the chairs, were also jostling for position, though rather more quietly than the family.
“I don’t know why we all have to be here, do you, Jule?” Viola whispered. “After all there can be nothing in Uncle’s will to interest our generation. Everything will have been left to our parents. I would far prefer to be outside strolling toward the lake on such a lovely day. Are the boats ready to be taken out yet?”
“I believe it is customary,” Julia said, “for the whole family to gather on such occasions.”
Viola pulled a face. “Almost everything is Daniel’s anyway,” she said. “The title is his and Vickers Abbey to go with it and Willowbunch Court. Those estates account for the bulk of Uncle’s fortune, according to Papa.”
Julia felt herself fidgeting with a ring on her finger and stilled her hands. It was all very well for Viola to be uninterested in the proceedings and even bored by them. Matters were not so simple for Julia. She had no parents. And no fortune.
What would she do? she wondered. Where would she go? Would she stay with Aunt Millie? Perhaps Grandpapa had left Primrose Park to Aunt Millie and Julia could stay with her there. Or perhaps Aunt Millie would be going to live with Aunt Eunice, or perhaps even with Aunt Sarah. If that were the case, then Julia would not feel comfortable about going along with her. Grandpapa would have made provision for her, of course. She had no doubt about that. But where would she live? She was too young to live alone. Would there be enough money to buy or rent herself a small cottage and employ a companion to live there with her?
Her stomach was churning with nervousness as the family members took a veritable age to settle in their chairs and quieten down enough that Mr. Prudholm could proceed with the business of reading the will. She was foolish not to have accepted one of the three offers that had been made for her during the Season she had spent in London or one of the four offers that Grandpapa had arranged since her return home. Seven offers of marriage and she had not been able to see herself married to one of the men who had made them! There must be something wrong with her, she thought. At least she would be safe if she were married. Bored and dissatisfied perhaps, but safe. At this precise moment safety seemed a very desirable state.
Mr. Prudholm coughed and silence fell on the drawing room.
The reading of the will took forever, Julia thought a long time later. Viola’s yawns became perpetual and peevish until Susan leaned across Julia and shushed her sister. A long list of servants had to be read through and the bequest to each described. Every family member had been left something, even Viola, who was merely a niece on the late countess’s side of the family. Viola stopped yawning abruptly when the solicitor’s voice announced that she had been left a hundred pounds. She clasped her hands to her bosom and smiled with delight.
“That is more than Papa has given me in pin money my whole life,” she whispered.
She must come next, Julia thought. Everyone else in the family had now been dealt with since Viola was the youngest niece. Only she was left. Despite her conviction that her grandfather would have looked after her, her heart beat uncomfortably. No, it was not beating. It was thumping—against her chest and in her throat and against her temples and in her ears. She felt as if there were no air left in to room.
“ ‘There remains only Primrose Park and all its farms and rents,’” Mr. Prudholm was reading. He paused as he had paused so often during the reading of the will. The late earl’s solicitor had something of a flair for the dramatic.
Only Primrose Park. That was all that was left to bequeath. The family waited silently and expectantly. And yet all of them had been named and dealt with already. All except Daniel, of course, who did not need anything from the will since he had already inherited the title and the bulk of the former earl’s property. Who was to be named again as owner of Primrose Park? Aunt Millie? But Aunt Millie had already been left a handsome portion.
Julia’s heart was beating so fast that she thought she must faint. She clasped her hands in her lap and looked down at them. Grandpapa had meant it, then, when he had said that she must marry or prepare to go to her own relatives after his death. He could not have left her Primrose Park. Could he? Even as her head denied the possibility, her heart raced with hope and the sure knowledge that there could not be hope.
“ ‘Primrose Park,’ ” Mr. Prudholm read in his slow distinct way, “ ‘will belong to whichever of my five nephews’ ”—Julia bowed her head, and closed her eyes and concentrated on holding on to her dignity—“ ‘can win the hand of my deceased daughter’s stepdaughter, Julia Maynard, within one month of the r
eading of this will.’ ”
At first Julia did not react. There was a shocked murmuring about her, someone—Aunt Eunice?—was blessing her soul, and Julia’s eyes gradually opened and focused on her clasped hands. What? What had Mr. Prudholm just said?
The solicitor must have been holding up a staying hand. The murmuring ceased rather abruptly.
“ ‘The announcement of a betrothal is to be made to my solicitor, Tobias Prudholm, in this very place one month from today,” ’ Mr. Prudholm’s voice read as Julia’s head came up to stare at him in disbelief. “ ‘If no such announcement is made, then Primrose Park and its properties and farms will be given to a charity of my choice, to be named on that same day one month from now. Julia Maynard will be sent, at the expense of my estate, to live with her paternal relatives in the north of England.’ ”
Julia was on her feet, clutching the back of the chair in front of her and forcing Uncle Paul to lean forward. “This is preposterous!” she said. “He must have been joking. He cannot have been serious. There must be some mistake.”
Mr. Prudholm held up a staying hand again, but Julia did not sit down. “Miss Maynard,” he said, quietly, reasonably, “your grandfather was concerned for your future. He wished to secure it for you as best he was able. I am sure you are aware, as your five male cousins must be, that Primrose Park is a remarkably prosperous estate. It has been your home for most of your life. It can remain your home for the rest of your days if you choose to accept an offer from one of your stepcousins within the next month. But there is no compulsion on you. Neither your grandfather’s will nor I can compel you to accept any offer. The will makes provision for that eventuality.”
Julia glanced about her blankly, hardly noticing the stares of uncles and aunts, some of them as blank as her own, some curious, one hostile. Her eyes locked with Frederick’s as he leaned against the pianoforte. His lips were pursed and he was looking back at her from narrowed eyes.
It was impossible to know if he was amused or not. She turned her head and caught the profile of another cousin. Daniel. A sharp, handsome aristocratic profile. His dark hair was immaculately tidy as it always was. He was looking at the solicitor with polite interest just as if the clause of the will that had just been read had nothing whatsoever to do with him. She wanted to scream some obscenity at him but knew none.
Aunt Millie was turned in her chair and was nodding and smiling sweetly. “A wonderful idea, dear,” she said to Julia. “I knew dear Humphrey would do something handsome for you and he has.”
“Hush, Millie,” Aunt Eunice said, patting her sister’s hand.
A hand touched Julia’s arm. “Sit down, Jule, do,” Susan said quietly. And Julia sank back into her chair, feeling foolish and conspicuous. One just did not interrupt the reading of a will. Lesley was looking back over his shoulder from the row in front and smiling sweetly at her.
Mr. Prudholm drew the attention of the room’s occupants again with his professional cough. “One other point, my lords, ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “and then we will be finished.” He returned his eyes to the earl’s will and read. “ ‘My whole family is requested or invited to remain at Primrose Park for the duration of the courtship of my granddaughter. It will be the last time I can be considered to be your host. Let it be a good month of family entertainment, then. No black clothes. I’ll not have anyone in mourning here after today. You have all been wearing it for a week or longer. Put it off again tomorrow. That is my final command as head of the family.’ ”
“But we brought nothing but black,” Aunt Roberta protested.
Uncle Henry squeezed her hand and told her that a carriage would be sent home to bring different clothes. The matter could be accomplished in two days.
Aunt Millie dabbed at her eyes with a large linen handkerchief borrowed from Uncle Raymond, and Aunt Sarah was heard to remark that her brother-in-law had been impossible. Quite impossible. Who had ever heard of anything so outrageous? It was not clear to which clause in the will she referred.
Julia stared at her hands and fought embarrassment and bewilderment. And panic. She concentrated very hard on not crying. He had owed her nothing. For sixteen years he had given her a home and all the comforts she could have desired. He had tried to secure her future. Most important, he had given her love. He had owed her nothing.
But she felt betrayed. And hurt. And very frightened.
The reading of the will was over. Mr. Prudholm was packing up his papers. The servants were filing out and clearly bursting with the need to return belowstairs as quickly as possible so that they could talk freely. The noise level in the drawing room was rising.
“Jule.” Viola gripped Julia’s hand and squeezed hard. “You lucky, lucky thing. Just a few words from Uncle’s will and you have five beaux. You are going to be betrothed within the month. I wish—oh, I wish I were in your shoes.”
“How foolish, Vi,” Susan said. “It would not work for you. One of those beaux is our own Gussie, and Malcolm is our first cousin.”
“But Daniel,” Viola said with a sigh. “And Freddie. Oh, Jule! You could be a countess immediately or a baroness at some time in the future.”
“And Les,” Susan said. “Lesley is the sweetest of them all.”
Stella had pushed her way through the crowd and set an arm about Julia’s shoulders. “The lady of the moment,” she said. “So you are going to be able to stay at Primrose Park after all, Jule. I am so happy for you. Mama and Papa were planning to bring you back home with us to live, and I would love that more than anything. But even so—to be able to stay on as mistress of Primrose Park!” She laughed lightly. “But you must choose Malcolm, of course. Then we will be sisters-in-law.”
“Oh,” Viola said. “Then it must be Gussie, Jule. You and Gussie have always been the best of friends anyway.”
“Julia.” Camilla had joined them unnoticed. She smiled with quiet sympathy. “That was very naughty of Uncle Humphrey. He has put you in a dreadfully embarrassing situation. I am so sorry.”
“Sorry?” Viola’s voice rose an octave. “Sorry, Camilla? When Jule has five beaux, including Daniel and Freddie? I wish you could be sorry for me for the same reason.”
Aunt Millie caught Julia’s eye from across the room and smiled and nodded as she had before. It looked as if she might leave her group at any moment and come to offer her congratulations too.
Julia felt sick. Mortified and sick and unaccustomedly tongue-tied. It was easy to see already what the month’s favorite sport was to be. It would be a wonder if the men did not start up a betting book like the ones they were reputed to have at the gentlemen’s clubs. Whom would the betting most favor? Daniel? Freddie? Gussie perhaps? Malcolm and Les would doubtless be long shots.
It was going to be a very entertaining month at least. Grandpapa was going to have his wish on that. Entertaining, that was, for everyone but her.
“Excuse me,” she said, flashing a smile about on the group of her cousins. “I have to go somewhere.” And she pushed past them toward the mercifully uncluttered doorway and beyond. She hurried onward, looking for a hiding place.
3
“I believe,” Frederick said after summoning his brother over to the pianoforte with a lazy but steady look and a lift of the eyebrows, “our wisest course at present, Les, would be to hoof it out of here before Mama thinks to look about her for her two sons.”
“Uncle made a very fair will,” Lesley said, falling into step beside his brother, whose pace was much faster than his leisurely stride might appear to be. “Everyone got something. You can pay your debts, Freddie. That will be a relief to you.”
Frederick chuckled as he led the way downstairs and out through the front doors. “With five hundred pounds?” he said. “It would be rather like trying to douse the fire engulfing a large mansion with a thimbleful of water. Besides, Les, how unimaginative it would be to use the gift of five hundred pounds to pay off debts. How are you planning to spend your money?” He clapped a friend
ly hand on his brother’s shoulder.
“I need some new coats,” Lesley said. “Mama says mine are threadbare at the seams because I keep forgetting to get new ones. I should go to Weston, do you think, Freddie? He is the best?”
“They don’t come any better,” Frederick said. “That’s the boy, Les. You are learning fast. So what do you think of Jule’s legacy, eh?”
“Very kind of Uncle,” Les said. “Making sure she stays here where she belongs. I’m glad for her. I like Jule.”
“We all do,” Frederick said. “The point is, my boy, which of us is she going to marry? One can never tell with Jule. She does not always do the obvious.”
“Dan,” Lesley said. “He will be the one, Freddie. He has everything else. He might as well have Primrose Park too. And Jule. She’ll be a countess. I’ll be glad for her. I like Jule.”
“You don’t think Dan has altogether too much as it is?” Frederick asked. “Besides, he never much liked her. And he has been paying determined court to the Morriston chit all spring. I think I might have a shot at Jule myself, Les. I have never failed to charm any woman I fancied into my bed. It would be strange if I couldn’t charm Jule into matrimony.”
“You don’t want to marry, though,” Les said. “Said so just the other day, Freddie.”
“That was before I knew that Primrose Park could be mine with the small inconvenience of a bride,” Frederick said. “Quite an inducement, isn’t it, Les?”
“It would all be gone in no time at all, though,” Lesley said. “Money goes through your fingers like water, Freddie. You always say so. Not fair to Jule. She wouldn’t like losing Primrose Park.”
“And still being saddled with me after it was gone,” Frederick said. “She might reform me, Les. A very strong-minded woman is Jule. And not a bad looker either. It’s hard to remember that she was as straight as a pole just a few years ago, isn’t it now?”