Never Less Than A Lady

by Mary J. Putney

  When her eyes opened, Randall asked, “Did you sleep well?”

  “I must have, since I remember nothing.” She covered a yawn. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”

  “I heard the church bells ringing noon not long ago.” His hand stroked down her arm, then cupped her breast. “You were a great success last night.”

  “People were very kind. I’d feared rude stares and at least some caustic comments, but if that happened, it was out of my hearing.” She exhaled with pleasure, feeling like a well petted cat. “No one seemed to care that my father disowned me.”

  “Your brother and grandmother’s support mean more than Castleton’s disapproval.” Randall’s thumb gently teased her nipple, creating a stir of pleasure. “After last night, you can have your choice of lovers. Half the men in aristocratic London desire you.”

  She jerked as if he’d splashed ice water over her. “Good God, Alex! Why would I want lovers? You above all should know that I’m a married woman!”

  His eyes were profoundly sad. “Everything has changed since I proposed in that Cumberland hut. You were wise to want a door out of the marriage if it proved to be a mistake. Once we’re sure there are no more threats to your safety, there’s no need to stay married to me. There would be some scandal if we get a Scottish divorce, but nothing that a charming heiress couldn’t weather socially.”

  She wanted to stammer that she liked being married to him, but her queasy stomach turned over. Feeling dizzy and confused, she scrambled from the bed and retched into the chamber pot.

  Randall pulled a blanket from the bed and wrapped it around her. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  When her stomach was empty, she sat back on her heels and pulled the blanket tight. “Why do you assume I’m going to want to end this marriage? I thought we were getting on rather well.”

  “So far.” He scooped her up and tucked her back into the bed, blanket and all. Then he crossed to his wardrobe and pulled out his banyan. As he slipped it on, he continued, “But how will you feel after a year has passed? So much has changed in a few weeks. There will be more changes ahead.”

  “Does anyone know how they’ll feel a year in the future?” she asked.

  The mattress sagged as he perched on the edge next to her. “One can’t know such things,” he agreed. “But given the pleasure you took in dancing and flirting and socializing last night, you might prefer a fashionable life.”

  Julia closed her eyes, wishing she was still happily asleep. Had she been flirting? She supposed so, but it was just light, pleasant fun! “Flirting doesn’t mean I wanted to bed any of my dance partners.”

  “Not now, perhaps, but you’re only just discovering your own nature. You might want to lie with other men, and I could really not accept that while you are married to me,” he said calmly. “Your wealth puts you in a rare position. You can do good works, take lovers, find a husband who will suit you better than I, or all those things at once.”

  Julia realized that she had created this situation by her insistence on keeping one foot outside the door of their marriage. It had made sense then, and she supposed it still did. Or did Randall’s gallant willingness to let her leave conceal his own desire to be free?

  Her voice edged, she asked, “Do you want me to dissolve this marriage so that you can find a woman who will give you children?”

  After a brief pause, he said evenly, “You told me from the beginning that it wasn’t possible. I accepted that.”

  Which was true, but his answer was a few seconds too slow in coming. “You’re right, we’ve both changed a great deal in the last weeks,” she said wearily. “So perhaps it was wise to leave that door ajar. But why did you raise the subject this morning?”

  “Because your situation changed so dramatically last night.” He sighed. “You married me because I was the best of a bad lot of choices. Now you have a life full of possibilities. From the beginning, we’ve both done our best to be honest with each other, so I thought it best to make sure that the situation is clear.”

  The damned, honorable man. Julia rolled away from him and buried herself in the covers. Her head knew that he was right. A year from now, she might be frantic to escape the marriage she’d made in desperation.

  But since that was the case, why did she feel like throwing up again?

  Chapter 32

  Randall halted the curricle and read the weathered sign. “Here’s the drive to Jeb Gault’s farm.”

  “We’ll know soon,” Julia said, her voice tight.

  Very true. But just what would they know? Randall watched Julia from the corner of his eye as he turned the light carriage into the lane. It hadn’t taken him long to realize that too much honesty could be a mistake in a marriage. The two days since his talk with Julia about her future had been full of strain. It wasn’t in her nature to sulk, but she had been very quiet ever since.

  When they’d gone to bed that night, she’d turned onto her side, presenting her back to him. The message had seemed clear, yet when he touched her shoulder in a silent good night, she’d rolled over into his arms and they’d made desperate, wordless love. The next night had been the same. He could find no fault with the passion, but he missed the talking, which created intimacy beyond the physical.

  He wished he knew what she was thinking. Was she considering her choices for lovers after the marriage ended? Was she practicing her sensual skills for the benefit of future bedmates? Not that she needed to—her talent for passion was unsurpassed. Or was she merely irritated with his directness?

  The thought of her leaving him was like a bayonet in the gut, but after seeing her pleasure at the ball, he’d realized she’d probably be happier with a man who was more lighthearted. More her equal in station and fortune. So he was forcing himself to be rational and detached, since the alternative might be turning crazily possessive. She’d suffered enough of that with Branford.

  The last thing he’d wanted to do was upset her, but he had. And he couldn’t unsay his words.

  As planned, they left London in search of Benjamin Thomas on the second morning after the ball. This time they’d traveled in style, using two carriages to transport Gordon and Elsa and their luggage. Since Upton was a couple of hours beyond Roscombe, they’d traveled down to his estate and spent the night.

  This morning, Julia had been so tense she’d had only a slice of toast and a cup of tea for breakfast. After, they’d set off in Randall’s curricle.

  The lane to Gault’s Hill Farm was long and rutted. Randall drove with care, and found that the lane ran right into the farmyard. Feeding chickens beside the barn was a small, ragged boy who looked up suspiciously as the carriage pulled in.

  With that face, the boy had to be Benjamin Thomas. Branford’s bastard looked much like his father at that age.

  Randall exchanged a glance with Julia, whose gray eyes were dark. She had also seen the resemblance.

  Reminding himself that he was an adult, not a child trying to escape a vicious older cousin, Randall swung from the carriage. “Good day.”

  The boy edged back. “Mr. Gault be in the house.” He pointed.

  “I’m not looking for Mr. Gault.” Randall handed the reins to Julia. “I believe I’m looking for you. You’re Benjamin Thomas?”

  “I didn’t do nothin’!” The boy backed up farther, into the stable wall. He was small for thirteen, and didn’t look as if he’d had a decent meal in years. His feet were bare and a rip in his shirt showed boney ribs.

  “No one said you did.” Julia’s voice was gentle but her gaze was intense.

  “I believe your father was my cousin, which means you and I are cousins also.” Randall didn’t move any closer since the boy was poised to run. “Just to be sure, might I ask your father’s name?”

  “Some bloke called Branford. I never met ’im.” His gaze went to the curricle. “My mam said ’e was rich. Like you.”

  The door to the farmhouse opened and a bur
ly man with a horsewhip in one hand strode out belligerently. He reeked of whiskey even though it was only midday. “Who the hell are you and why are you talking to my boy?”

  “My name is Randall. I assume you’re Mr. Gault.” Randall’s brows arched. “You’re saying this is your son?”

  “No, but I’m responsible for him. Benjamin was on the parish so I said I’d take him in and care for him.” Gault scowled at the boy. “Useless little bastard.”

  “You haven’t cared for him very well,” Julia said tartly. “He’s wearing rags and I could count every rib on his body.”

  Gault glared up at her. “Not my fault he ruins his clothes! He gets plenty to eat but he’s a growing boy so he looks skinny. Eats like a pig and too lazy to work.”

  Benjamin made a small sound that reminded Randall of a spitting cat. He glanced at the boy, who was staring at Gault with an expression that was…murderous. There were welt marks visible through holes in his ragged garments. The marks of a whip.

  “Then you are in luck today, Mr. Gault,” Randall said coolly. “The family was unaware of Benjamin’s existence until quite recently. Now that we know, naturally we will take responsibility for him.”

  Benjamin’s head whipped around and he stared at Randall. Despite his resemblance to Branford, he reminded Randall of someone else.

  Of himself, when Randall had been a frightened, abused boy.

  Gault’s brows furrowed. “You want to pay for his upkeep? That would be right honorable of you. I’m willing to keep looking after him for say”—his gaze went to the expensive curricle—“fifty quid a year. He’s a right handful, not fit for a gentleman’s household, but I can handle ’im. ’Twould be a crime to take him away from Hill Farm when he’s been with me for four years. He’s like me own flesh and blood.”

  The sum was outrageous. If Randall was fool enough to agree to those terms, Benjamin would never see a pennyworth of benefit. “Generous of you, Mr. Gault,” he said with only a trace of sarcasm, “but there is no need for your continued care. A child belongs with his family, so my wife and I will take Benjamin now. I assure you that he will be properly cared for.”

  Gault’s anger thickened the air. “The parish gave him to me! You can’t just take ’im away!”

  “I’m sure the parish will be glad to be freed of responsibility for an orphan.” Randall turned to the boy. “As I said, Benjamin, you and I are cousins. You also have a grandfather. You are not alone in the world.”

  The boy’s face worked. “I don’t have to stay here?”

  “No. Do you have any possessions you wish to take with you?”

  “Damnation!” Gault bellowed, his hand tightening on the whip. “You can’t kidnap my farmhand! Who will take care of my stock? He’s good for that, at least.”

  “Hire another hand.” Randall had guessed that Gault wouldn’t voluntarily give up free labor, and he’d come prepared. He pulled twenty pounds out of his pocket and held the notes so the farmer could see them. “I should think this would be good for a couple of years worth of labor.”

  Gault gazed at the money. “Very well. Take the little bastard and get out!”

  Randall turned to the boy. “Benjamin, do you wish to know more about me before climbing into my carriage? I give you my word that you won’t be cold or hungry or whipped again.”

  “I’d go with anyone to get away from ’im!” The boy looked from Randall to Lady Julia and back. “You’re really family?”

  “We are.” As Randall looked more closely at the dirty face, he saw a different inheritance beyond what came from Branford. Benjamin’s jaw was more square, his eyes hazel, not blue. And if he wanted to do violence to Gault, he had good reason. “Do you need help bringing your things to the carriage?”

  Blinking, Benjamin shook his head and darted into the barn. There was a sound of scrabbling feet, climbing a ladder, Randall thought. Gault said brusquely, “Give me the money!”

  “When we’re ready to leave.” Randall gave the farmer his most intimidating stare and Gault subsided.

  In less than five minutes, Benjamin emerged with a small bundle in one hand and a fluffy black-and-white cat draped over his shoulder. “The cat is yours?” Randall asked.

  The boy gave a jerky nod. “He’d kill ’er if I left her behind.”

  “Damned right I would,” Gault growled. “Worthless beast.”

  “Then the cat comes,” Randall agreed. “Does she have a name, Benjamin?”

  “Miss Kitty.” Benjamin walked to the carriage, his wary gaze on Gault.

  “That’s a pretty name. She seems very much a lady.” Julia transferred the carriage reins to her left hand. “Do you want to hand her to me while you climb in?”

  Since Benjamin couldn’t manage the cat, his bundle, and the step all at once, he reluctantly passed the cat up to Julia. “She won’t run off as long as I’m with ’er.”

  “She’s very calm.” Julia stroked the cat, who turned around, then settled in Julia’s lap. She was a large cat, with enormous tufted feet. “Such lovely silky fur!”

  “I groom her every night with a comb I made,” Benjamin said proudly as he dropped his bundle behind the seat.

  A pity that Benjamin hadn’t used the comb on himself, but no matter. Randall suspected that a boy who loved a cat and was good with livestock probably hadn’t inherited his father’s viciousness. Even if he had, Randall wouldn’t leave a rabid hedgehog here with Jeb Gault.

  Instead of climbing into the carriage, Benjamin turned and scooped up a stone the size of his fist. Then he darted across the yard and swung the stone at Gault’s jaw.

  The farmer howled when the stone slammed into his jaw. Grabbing Benjamin, he threw the punching, kicking boy to the ground. As Benjamin skidded through the dirt, Gault unleashed his whip and slashed it viciously across the boy’s arm.

  The farmer was about to strike again when Randall wrenched the whip away. Gault turned on Randall, his huge fists slamming forward. Randall deftly stepped out of the way, then used a throw he’d learned from Ashton to put Gault flat on his back.

  “God damn it!” the farmer snarled. “You saw how the little beast attacked me! He deserves one last beating before he leaves!”

  Before Gault could scramble to his feet, Randall bent down and jammed two fingers into the man’s neck, blocking the flow of blood to the brain. This close, the stench of whiskey was overwhelming. Gault gasped and the fight went out of him.

  “Enough!” Randall snapped. “The boy is now my problem, not yours!”

  As he straightened, Benjamin arrived and tried to hit Gault with the stone again. Randall caught him around the waist and lifted him into the air. “That’s enough from you, too! Let go of the stone!”

  Benjamin struggled to free himself. “I’m going to pay ’im back for beating me!”

  “No!” Randall pried the stone from the boy’s hand and tossed it away. He caught Benjamin’s gaze, willing him to settle down.

  As the wildness faded in the hazel eyes, Randall said quietly, “Learn to pick your fights carefully. This one is over. Forever. Do you understand?”

  When Benjamin nodded, Randall set him on the ground but kept his hand on the boy’s shoulder. To Gault, he said dryly, “You should pay me for taking him away, but since we had an agreement…”

  He dropped the money by the farmer, then marched Benjamin to the curricle, where a worried Julia had one hand on the reins and her other on the cat. He gave her a reassuring smile. “All boys lose their temper.”

  She nodded, but still looked worried. Privately, Randall was also. Benjamin’s violence might be understandable under the circumstances, but the wild attack on Gault was troubling in Branford’s son. For Julia, the idea must be horrific.

  Randall looked down at the boy, who stared back defiantly. “Sometimes fighting is necessary, sometimes it isn’t, Benjamin. We will talk more about that later. But I am telling you right now that if you ever raise a hand to my wife or try to hurt her in any way, I will take
a knife and peel all the skin from your bones. Is that clear?”

  Benjamin’s brows drew together. He looked surprised by an adult who talked rather than hit. “Won’t ’urt ’er if she don’t ’urt me.”

  Randall thought that was sufficient for now. “Good enough. Now we’ll be on our way.” He lifted the boy into the curricle, then swung up into the seat. Benjamin, who was between the adults, reclaimed his cat, petting her with dirty fingers.

  The farmer stumbled to his feet. “Get off my land and don’t let that little bastard near me ever again!”

  Randall inclined his head. “Good day, Mr. Gault.” Then he expertly turned the curricle in the narrow quarters of the farmyard and drove back down the rough driveway. Benjamin, who sat between Randall and Julia, said pugnaciously, “You shouldn’t a given ’im the money. He fed ’is pigs better ’n me.”

  “He doesn’t deserve it,” Randall agreed. “But the money made it easier and quicker. Particularly since you attacked him and could have been charged with assault.”

  “But he beat me all the time!”

  “Yes, and he was very wrong to do it,” Julia said. “But sometimes there is a difference between what is right and the law. Legally, men are usually allowed to discipline wives and children.” A note of bitterness sounded in her voice. “Sometimes it is best to walk away.”

  The boy frowned as he pondered that. There seemed to be a sharp mind inside that ragged head. He had potential—if he hadn’t inherited his father’s madness.

  As they rode toward the village of Upton, Randall said, “I thought we should stop at the tavern to eat before driving home.”

  “Eat at a real tavern?” Benjamin said incredulously. “As much as I want?”

  “Not that much,” Julia said firmly. “Since you haven’t been fed decently, you’d probably make yourself ill if you ate as much as you want. But you will have enough, and a good dinner when we get home.”