by Mary Balogh
And realized something all in a rush. Something characteristically stupid. And impossible. And totally undesirable. She only wondered if it had always been so or if it had happened more recently—since his arrival at Primrose Park just before Grandpapa’s death. Or even more recently. Perhaps as recently as that afternoon. Had she fallen in love with him just that afternoon and merely because of the story he had told her? Or had that story just revealed the truth that had been in existence before that?
What truth? It could not be the truth, surely. It would be just too utterly ludicrous. It was just that he had aroused her sympathies. And like all women—foolish women, and foolish of herself to so generalize—she had fallen in love with a rather sad story. Or rather with the man who had told it.
Yes, of course it was ridiculous. Too stupid even to be considered with any seriousness. She would laugh at herself in the morning when she had had time to sleep on it—if she slept, that was. Or else she would have put the afternoon’s experience into proper perspective and realized that she could sympathize with a man without falling in love with him. Indeed, it would be a pleasant realization to wake up to. For the first time since her early childhood she would perhaps be able to like Daniel. Understanding could breed liking.
But it was no good. There was no point in trying to be sensible. She should know that from experience. Emotion—intuition—was always more powerful than good sense. She knew it for a fact, then, and she knew that a good night’s sleep, even if such a thing were to be had, would not change that fact. This was what she had always known would happen to her one day. It was what she had awaited for so long. It was the reason she had rejected half a dozen suitors. She had always known that one day she would love, and that she could not marry unless or until that happened.
It was stupid and unreasonable and not at all desirable. She had no wish whatsoever to be in love with Daniel, but in love with him she was. Yes, she might as well admit it finally in words even if she did not speak them aloud.
She loved Daniel. The words sounded strange. Impossible to believe. Strangely heartwarming. Daniel!
And so everything was spoiled. Any hope she might have had that she could stay at Primrose Park was gone. Any hope that she might have been able to remain a member of the family that had always seemed hers but had never actually been hers was gone. She would not now be able to marry any of the cousins—not Malcolm or Les or Freddie. And certainly not Daniel. For even if he could be induced to renew his offer—and he had said that he would not do so—she would not be able to accept him. Him least of all, for it would be impossible to marry a man who did not love her when she did love him. Better to marry Freddie, who would not demand love, or Les, who would not expect it.
Except that she could not marry either. Or anyone. Ever. Perhaps that was being a little melodramatic. Perhaps love that was not fed died eventually—in a year or ten years or a hundred years, perhaps. Perhaps if that happened she would be able to love again. Perhaps she would even be able to marry. Who knew? There was always hope for happy endings, she supposed, as long as one still lived and breathed.
She was going to have to talk with Freddie and Les. She was going to have to reject their offers. She was not sure if she needed to explain to Malcolm since he had not yet made her any sort of an offer. But in order to tidy up loose ends she supposed that she should. She was going to have to do it all within the next day at the longest and then try to persuade Mr. Prudholm to come back early. There was no point in prolonging speculation within the family when her mind was made up irrevocably.
She must start thinking about her uncle and aunt and their family in the north of England. She must start accustoming herself to the fact that she was going to be there soon. Perhaps it would not be as bad as she expected. After all, she was not a child to be making a nuisance of herself. She was an adult and could be of some use. Anyway, out of sheer pride she would probably take some sort of employment.
It was all a matter of turning her mind in that direction. There was no point in going into the mopes because life was not handing her a neat happily-ever-after ending on a platter. Life rarely did, she supposed.
Why had he kissed her, she wondered, when he was angry with her for refusing to promise not to marry Freddie? And such a hot and fierce kiss? But there was no point in trying to guess Daniel’s motives for anything. And there was no point in teasing her memory with such titillating details—that and the embrace by the stream. She wondered in some disgust how long she would feed her love-starved heart with those two particular memories. She had an image of herself as an aged spinster nodding over a winter fire and remembering that once upon a time she had been kissed and a little more than kissed by a man who had been capable of turning her knees to jelly.
It was not a very pleasant or a very dignified image. And if she was not much mistaken, the dressing bell had rung some time before and she was going to be late for dinner if she did not make great haste.
But it was too late even for great haste to be of much help. And so she was late for dinner and won for herself a scold from Aunt Sarah as she slid onto the one vacant chair, a frown from Daniel, a smile and nod of sympathy from Aunt Millie, and a wink and a grin from Freddie.
Malcolm supposed that he should be feeling disappointed or chagrined or—something negative. Julia was the first woman with whom he had seriously considered matrimony. And yet she was telling him in that candid way that was peculiar to her that she had decided she was not going to marry anyone in the foreseeable future. She had called him over after dinner to the pianoforte, where she was picking out a tune on the keyboard with one finger.
“You have not offered for me, Malcolm,” she said, “and you have given no positive indication that you intend to do so before the month is over. But I thought you should know, anyway. I cannot choose a husband under such circumstances, and I do not think it fair for you or any of the others to choose a wife this way. I am going to tell Mr. Prudholm, perhaps tomorrow, that Primrose Park can be given to that charity of Grandpapa’s choice.”
Malcolm seated himself on the stool beside her, and she looked anxiously into his face.
“You are not offended, Malcolm?” she asked. “Either by my rejection or by my assumption that you meant to offer?”
“No, Julia,” he said, feeling quite at ease with her for perhaps the first time in his life. “I am not offended. And I thank you for saying this to me privately like this.”
“I have to tell Freddie and Les too,” she said, pulling a face. “They actually have made offers. This is really a dreadful coil. I wonder if Grandpapa is sitting somewhere in a corner of eternity having a good laugh at the way his joke is turning out.”
Malcolm looked gravely at her. “I think your grandfather wanted the best for you, Julia,” he said. “I think he would be sad at your decision, but I think he would respect it too. As I do.”
“Thank you, Malcolm,” she said, setting a hand on his sleeve. “You are kind. Oh, here comes Les. I might as well get this all over with this evening, I suppose.” She smiled brightly as Lesley approached the pianoforte. “What a warm evening it is, Les. Don’t you think so? Take me out onto the balcony?”
She smiled and got to her feet and Lesley offered his arm and drew her out through the French windows. She was utterly charming, Malcolm thought. For the past few years he had fancied himself a little in love with her, but he knew now that his feelings had always been more admiration and affection than love. He had never felt more relieved in his life than he felt right now. He should be feeling depressed, perhaps, but he was not. He was feeling elated. He knew that there never could have been a relationship between him and Julia. She was a bright star who would have made him feel dull and awkward for the rest of his life.
He looked about the drawing room, wanting uncharacteristically to share his mood of exhilaration and his newfound sense of freedom. His eyes came to rest on Camilla, who was seated with his mother and Aunt Millie, listening to the latter
talk. He met her eyes and smiled. She smiled warmly back.
Camilla. She would understand his feelings. She would enjoy celebrating with him his escape from a possible marriage that would have brought no happiness either to Julia or to him. And she would appreciate the fact that Julia had rejected him without waiting for him to offer first. She would share his amusement over that detail.
She looked up at him and smiled again when he crossed the room to her side and waited for his mother to finish what she was saying.
“Would you care for a stroll outside, Camilla?” he asked. “It is a lovely evening if the air coming through the French windows is any indication.”
“I would love it,” she said, getting to her feet. “I don’t believe I even need a shawl.”
Aunt Millie smiled and nodded her encouragement.
“Dear Camilla,” he heard her say as he led Camilla away, her hand through his arm. “It is high time she found herself another beau, Roberta.”
They were words that spun around in Malcolm’s head as he led his friend down the stairs and through the hall to the front doors.
15
Lesley had been very decent about the whole thing, Julia thought as she looked about the drawing room after coming in from the balcony. But then she would have expected no less of Les. He had merely smiled and told her she must do what would make hear most happy, and no of course he was not disappointed to have lost Primrose Park. He had only wanted it as a home for her. Perhaps he would travel, he had told her. He had been thinking about it and thought that perhaps he would go to Italy for the winter. He had looked excited at the prospect.
Dear Les, Julia thought, locating Frederick with her eyes and making her way across the room toward him, he deserved to be happy. She was glad she had helped him realize that he could do what he most wanted to do.
“Freddie.” She touched him on the arm. He was talking with Gussie and Uncle Henry and Daniel, of all people. She did not look at Daniel. “May I have a word with you?”
“More than one if you wish, Jule,” he said, jumping to his feet and grinning down at her. “Outside? Malcolm and Camilla are strolling out there too, but I imagine we can avoid them if we try hard enough.”
Uncle Henry chuckled, and Julia even more diligently avoided looking at the earl.
“I saw you talking with both Malcolm and Les,” Frederick said when they were on their way downstairs. “You have made your decision, have you, Jule?”
“Yes, I have, Freddie,” she said. She felt far more nervous with him than she had felt with either of the other two.
She did not know how he would take it. She rather believed he had his heart set on acquiring Primrose Park.
“Well,” he said, looking about him as they descended the horseshoe steps outside, “we seem to have lost Malcolm and Camilla without even having to try.” He patted Julia’s hand before raising it to his lips and looking down intently at her. “Put me out of my misery, Jule. What have you decided?”
“That I am going to marry no one,” she said quickly. “This competition, or whatever it might be called, was not a good idea of Grandpapa’s. I cannot choose a husband in such haste merely to save myself from being at the mercy of my father’s relatives, whom I scarcely know. And I don’t think any of you should be in competition with one another for my hand and for possession of this property. There is something sordid about it, Freddie. I am going to send for Mr. Prudholm tomorrow and get him to put a stop to it all even before the end of the month. My mind is made up.”
“Ah,” he said quietly as they strolled along the terrace, “you have saddened me, Jule.”
“Because you have lost Primrose Park?” she asked.
He smiled down at her, his eyes lazy beneath drooped eyelids. They were quite devastating eyes in the moonlight, Julia thought. “Yes, because of that,” he said. “I cannot deny that it was the initial attraction of this whole thing, Jule, though I was never sorry that you would come along with it. But as the days have passed I have come to realize that my priorities were wrong. To hell with Primrose Park. It is you I want.”
“You love me?” The trouble with Freddie was that she knew him only as a cousin and former playmate. She knew nothing of him as a lover except that he was very accomplished and very successful. It was impossible to know what was sincerity and what was flirtation or even seduction. Not that it really mattered to her decision. But she would like to know. Was she hurting him?
“You will force me to say the words, Jule, won’t you?” he said. “The most difficult words in the English language for a man to say. And you will force me to say them when they are useless, when you have already rejected me. Yes, my dear, I love you, I am afraid.”
“Oh, Freddie,” she said, frowning, “are you telling me the truth? Don’t tease me if you are not. I would not hurt you for the world. I am far too fond of you.”
They had come to the end of the terrace and had stopped walking.
“Will it make a difference,” he asked, “if I pour out my heart to you, Jule?”
She shook her head.
“Then I’ll not do so,” he said gently. “And if it will make you feel better, I will tell you that my words were all charade, that in fact I feel nothing for you but a deep affection. There. Better?”
“No,” she said, turning so that they could stroll back again. “But I am sorry if I am hurting you, Freddie, and sorrier still if you are making me feel bad for nothing. What will you do for the summer?”
“I have not thought of it,” he said. “Go to Brighton, perhaps. But what about you, Jule? Have you really rejected all of us? Dan too?”
“Daniel?” Her brows shot together as she looked up at him.
“I thought perhaps he was a contestant after all,” he said. “He has spent a considerable amount of time with you in the past few days, Jule.”
“I hate him,” she said vehemently. “You know that, Freddie. I always have. I would rather be dead than married to Daniel.”
“ ‘The lady doth protest too much,’ ” he said quietly.
“Freddie!” She withdrew her arm from his so that she could punch it. “Don’t be horrid. Oh, don’t please.”
“I must admit,” he said, “that I will be able to endure losing you far more cheerfully if Dan doesn’t get you instead. You would not enjoy life a great deal with Dan, Jule. I could give you far more fun.”
“I know,” she said. “But I have to put an end to this dreadful game, Freddie. As soon as possible. It seems that Mr. Prudholm has gone home to Gloucester for the month. I hoped he would have stayed at the village as he did during the last weeks of Grandpapa's life. 1 hoped to be able to summon him tomorrow and get this all behind me. But it will be a few days before I can send a message to him and before he can come. I just hope he does not delay. Each day is going to be an agony to me, and I suppose it will not be pleasant for you or Les either. Perhaps not even for Malcolm.”
They came to a stop again at the foot of the horseshoe steps.
“Gloucester is only twenty miles or so away, is it not?” he said. “It would be quicker to go to him and explain in person rather than send a letter by messenger, would it not, Jule?”
“I suppose so,” she said. She laughed suddenly. “Can you imagine Aunt Sarah’s face and the faces of the other aunts if I went galloping off to Gloucester on Flossie? Wearing my breeches? And can you picture Daniel’s face?”
Frederick took both her hands in his. “You don’t need to go alone, Jule,” he said. “There are plenty of people here to go with you. I’ll go with you. If we leave early in the morning, we can be back by nightfall. Perhaps with Prudholm in tow. The next day all this unpleasantness could be over for you.”
“You would do that for me, Freddie?” she said, squeezing his hands. “Even though you will be the loser? You are kind.”
“Not really, Jule,” he said. “I know better than to argue with you once you have made up your mind. And if it is to be all over, then I would prefer
to have done with it as soon as possible too. Every day spent in company with you now that I know I cannot have you will be something of an agony to me too, you know.”
“Oh, Freddie,” she said, “don’t say things like that. Besides, we cannot do it. For riding off in a carriage with you will be seen as even worse than riding off alone—in breeches.”
He clucked his tongue. “Of course,” he said. “Even I realize that, Jule. You did not think I meant you and I alone, did you? Les or Gussie will come and one of the girls. I’ll arrange it all tonight and we can be ready to leave early. A private little excursion for four to Gloucester. We had better keep quiet about it, though, or everyone will want to come and the whole thing will become rather unwieldy. And some of our relatives may try to persuade you out of calling Prudholm back early. Just leave it all to me. Agreed?”
She thought for a moment. But it really was a splendid idea. She wanted to be away from Primrose Park, away from all the people who had been family to her through most of her life. Away from Daniel. She could not bear to wait longer than necessary now that she had realized she was going to have to leave them all soon enough anyway. Better to get it over with as soon as possible.
“Agreed,” she said, squeezing Frederick’s hands again and standing on tiptoe so that she might kiss his cheek. “Thank you, Freddie. You are turning out to be a true friend after all.”
He stood back and released her hands, smiling ruefully. “Perhaps you had better not touch me too much, Jule,” he said. “I have not had a great deal of practice at resisting ladies I want, you know.”
“I am sorry,” she said, taking a step back herself. “Shall we go inside?”
“I think we had better, Jule,” he said. “Eight o’clock breakfast tomorrow?”
“I’ll be down,” she said, “and ready to go as soon as we have finished eating.”
Malcolm and Camilla had crossed the terrace and descended the steps to the formal gardens. They strolled along the gravel walks, arms linked.