The Fictitious Marquis

by Alina Adams

  At nine, her cousin's child was almost a perfect miniature replica of Miriam. She wore a gray dress trimmed with lace at the collar, and a neck-to-knees row of shiny silver buttons down the front. Her ruler-straight blond hair, the sort that turned golden in the summer and brown when wet, was held off of Alexia's face with a silver band. Listening, Julia marveled at the girl's charmingly French-accented English.

  As Alexia patiently repeated her tutor's teachings, Julia found herself being reminded of Jamie. Had she sounded as patronizing while quizzing him on etiquette? Had she really treated an intelligent, full-grown man like a child?

  Julia would have liked to offer an indignant, "Of course not," to such a question. But she knew that it would be a lie.

  Her behavior towards Jamie had truly, from the first day, been abominable. And the worst part was, Julia could no longer even recall why that was. It were as if the woman who had fetched Jamie from his jail cell, and the woman that she had somehow, over the past months, transformed into, were not even distantly related, much less had ever been the same person. Thinking back on past conversations, Julia grew more and more uncomfortable as she realized just how much she'd sounded like Alexia's tutor.

  She had belittled Jamie, berated and insulted him. And, when he expressed the audacity to protest, she had threatened him with a hanging. Why, not even Julia's frantic worry over Miriam and Alexia's fates could justify such behavior.

  Now that she had the hindsight to step away and look at herself as if from the side, Julia felt amazed that the one time Jamie raised his hand to her, he had hesitated to follow through and give her the slap that she so soundly deserved.

  Promising the nurse that she would see to it Miriam ate every last morsel of dinner on her tray, Julia rushed the imperious woman out of the room and turned back to her cousin. She helped Miriam sit, arranging the pillows so that she might be propped up from all sides, and then balanced the tray across Miriam's lap, cutting her food into smaller pieces for her to chew.

  She said, "I can spirit Alexia to England. If Henri tries to take her by force, he will have to go through the English courts, and, with anti-French sentiment so high after the war, I doubt that he could count on a successful litigation. Besides, in London, Salome does have the powerful friends, and I have the money to ensure a judgement being handed down our way."

  Miriam nodded weakly. "Yes, that is the best idea of all."

  "Tomorrow then. I will return tomorrow morning, pack up Alexia's things, and we will be on the ship heading for England by dinner time. Even if Henri does hear of our absence from your servants or the like, it will be too late for him to stop us."

  "And your husband?" Miriam spent the last of her strength to inquire "How will you explain all of this to him?"

  Her cousin's question continued to plague Julia, even as she bade her farewell, and left the house, walking towards her hired carriage. How would Julia explain all this to Jamie? Or maybe a better question was, how much of this would she explain?

  Signaling for the driver to bring his rig around, Julia hiked up the right side of her skirt with one hand, and opened the carriage door, stepping inside.

  A male hand reached out from the depths, firmly clasping Julia's fingers, and offering the extra tug necessary for her to easily slide inside the carriage. Surprised, she fell against the cushioned seat, needing to catch her breath before turning to identity the mysterious figure.

  "What a surprise to run into you here." Jamie crossed his legs and leaned casually against the opposite wall. Politely, he asked, "Now, would you care to explain the reasons as to why?"

  14

  The moment Julia stepped inside the carriage, Jamie knew that, finally, he would be getting the answers he wanted. She looked exhausted. She moved slowly, letting her head fall back, and sharply rolling her shoulders in an attempt to ease the painful stiffness in her spine. Julia's mouth was set in a straight, grim line, and all ten of her nails had been bitten down to the flesh.

  Seeing her in such a state, Jamie felt tempted to soften the aggressive questioning he had planned for while following Julia from the inn to this chateau. But he did not dare pull back, for fear that it would be too far, and then Jamie might never learn just what sort of plot it were that Julia had dragged him into.

  He gestured for the driver to start his team, then grabbed Julia by the arm, and demanded, "Now, that we have all the time in the world, perhaps you would care to begin at the beginning."

  She no longer possessed the strength to fight him. Lying on her side against the carriage seat, and rubbing her eyes with the back of one hand, Julia looked less like the co-conspirator of an intricate inheritance plot, and more like a little girl desperate for a good night's sleep. Julia yawned, covering her mouth with one hand, and sighed, looking at Jamie with eyes so beaten, they lacked any other expression whatsoever. Tonelessly, she told him, "This chateau belongs to my cousin, Madame Miriam de Mornay. She is dying, and she needs my help to save her child."

  In as few words as possible, Julia told him about Miriam's situation vis-a-vis Henri, and his threats to put Alexia in a convent, as well as her promise to protect the girl.

  Jamie listened silently, only to, at the end of her tale, point out, "I asked that you start at the beginning. This, my dear Mrs. Lowell, sounds suspiciously like the very end."

  "What else is it that you wish to know?"

  "How does all this fit in with your reluctance to marry Gavin, and with your uncle's most dire predictions of doom, and with his cryptic warnings of 'bad blood' in the family?"

  Julia took a deep breath, forcing herself to sit up at least a wee bit straighter She opened her mouth to answer, but no sound proved forthcoming. She tried again, confessing, "This is most difficult for me. After so much time spent training myself not to answer, it is almost as if my mind were blocking upon my tongue."

  "Try harder."

  Julia looked down at her hands, squeezing them into fists so tight her knuckles turned white, and, refusing to meet Jamie's eyes, said, "The bad blood that Uncle Collin spoke of, it is in Miriam, as well. My mother, and Salome, and Miriam, and—and I—we are all of the Jewish race."

  Jamie blinked in surprise, peering closer at Julia. He'd been given so much time to imagine the worst that his brain stood prepared for a multitude of explanations, ranging from the medical to the legal to the occult. Yet, never in a million years, would he ever have guessed at this. A part of him, childish and superstitious to be sure, but a genuine part nonetheless, instinctively searched Julia for the horns his old man claimed all Jews had growing from the tops of their heads.

  Noting Jamie's surreptitious interest, Julia snapped, "Do stop it, Jamie, I haven't any horns, nor a tail either."

  He swallowed guiltily, and claimed, with false bravado, "Of course not. I did not really think that you would."

  "Have you never met any other Jews before?"

  "Only the ones I saw living in the London ghetto. And they all wear those heavy dark coats and hats, and the women kerchiefs. So who knew what they might be hiding."

  Julia said, "They tell me Uncle Collin put up such a wail when my father dared marry my mother, that those pair of mirrors in his parlor fell down from their walls. He called her a heretic, and a witch, and every other epithet that he could think of. Even when my mother swore that she would never tell another living soul what she was, Collin still did carry on so."

  "I don't understand." Jamie, over the initial shock, now felt merely intrigued. "If your mother swore never to confess, why did she and your father bring you up in the Jewish faith, all the while knowing England to be filled with nincompoops like your uncle and I, who believed you to have horns, or worse."

  "They didn't. I was baptized and raised Anglican, just like anyone else. I did not even know about my mother's faith, until Collin told me. To prevent my marrying Gavin." Julia shook her head, marveling at her own naivete. "I grew up in the same house with my mother, and Salome, and Miriam, and I never knew. No
one ever told me. They all wanted to protect me, they said. They did not want to force me into a life of lies, like theirs. My mother had to deny who she was until the day she died. Salome is still denying. My grandfather—"

  "The commoner who sold pots and pans?"

  "Yes. He lived two lives. A Christian one for his customers, and a Jewish one at home. He went to church every Sunday, and prayed in private Friday night, begging for forgiveness. I can't blame him though. A few untruths does seem like a small price to pay for a path out of the ghetto." Julia turned to face him. "Have you ever been inside the Jewish ghetto, Jamie? After Collin told me, I went to take a look. It was horrible, such conditions those people live under. But, at the same time . . ." She hesitated, warning, "You'll laugh at me."

  "I've been laughing at you for weeks. What's another chuckle, more or less, between friends?"

  "But, at the same time, it was wonderful. All my life, I felt like I never belonged with my peers. Physically, I am much darker than, for instance, Gavin or Lady Emma. Or you. I barely look English. But the ghetto is filled with people who look like me. Not in how they dress, or how they act, but in their eyes. Even when our eyes were of a different color, they were the same. Can you understand?" She shook her head. "Oh, of course, you can't."

  He took offense at her assumption. "Certainly. How in the world could I possibly understand what it feels like to circulate among people you are only pretending to belong with, all the while fearing they might find you out?" Noting her chastised expression, Jamie added, "What I do not understand, however, is why this should have altered your desire to marry Gavin. After all, if your mother kept her origins secret, why could not you do the same?"

  "There is a tradition in Gavin's family of the eldest son going to university, studying the law, then taking his rightful seat in the House. Our child would never be able to do so. Jews are not allowed at Oxford, nor may they study the law anywhere else. And as for the seat in the House, the oath every new member must take requires a swearing of abidance to the Christian faith and the Christian Savior."

  "And you would not wish a child of yours taking such an oath?"

  "No." Julia cleared her throat, and, feeling that she had nothing more to lose, attempted to explain to him exactly why she continued clinging to such uncomfortable principles, rather than taking an easier route. "After I returned from the ghetto, Salome warned me never to speak of it to anyone. She said that I had no concept of the sort of violent reaction I might provoke from people if ever they found out I had deceived them."

  "I presume she was referring to a violent reaction along the lines of the one your cousin Miriam received from her husband."

  "I suppose. Only, you see, I could not obey Salome's order."

  "A rule that you could not obey," Jamie said, not unkindly, "What a stunning shock."

  Julia smiled. "I sought out my mother's family. I badgered Moses and Isaac for every bit of information they knew."

  "Moses and Isaac? Our Moses and Isaac?"

  "They are my mother's cousins. That is why they take such fine care of me."

  "And, no doubt, why they watch me like such hawks."

  "Moses went against Salome's orders to teach me, not only about Jewish customs and traditions, but also about Jewish history in England. They never teach such things in school. Did you know that, in 1144, in Norwich, an entire town of Jews were hanged after a Christian boy was found murdered? One hundred years later, an Oxford University student who converted to Judaism and married a Jewish woman was burned alive for his crime."

  Lightly, Jamie said, "That certainly makes me feel secure."

  "I had such nightmares afterwards."

  The fear on her face was genuine. It made Jamie want to reach out and comfort her. It made him want to take on every fool, like himself and dear old Uncle Collin, who once thought her, and those like her, to be some sort of devils in disguise.

  Julia said, "But the odd thing was, instead of my being frightened away by Moses's stories, I became even more determined. I became determined that if the world and England hated all Jews so much, then that's exactly what I would become. If only so as not to allow those who try to purge us a posthumous victory. No matter how much Salome tried dissuading me, I had my mind made up. I would live a Jewish life, in the name of all those who had been killed trying to defend it."

  "A very noble sentiment, Mrs. Lowell," Jamie still found it difficult to, one hundred percent, accept her words at face value. "However, you are hardly living this Jewish life out in public, where you can be seen. Could it be that, noble sentiments aside, you are not yet ready to sacrifice all the posh and privilege that comes with being the wealthy Anglican daughter of a peer?"

  She glared at him so ferociously that Jamie felt certain he had hit his intended target.

  "True," Julia spat out, but Jamie was no longer sure whether her anger were directed at him, or at herself. "I am a hypocrite. There, I have admitted it. Are you happy? I love the life of the ton. I love its balls and its fox hunts and its nights at the ballet and the opera. I love the beautiful clothes that my money buys me, and I love the way I am bowed to when I travel into town. Sometimes, I wish that I were two people. That I could lead two lives. Or that, at the very least, that I might decide which one it was that I really want." A tear trickled down Julia's face, and she wiped it quickly, telling Jamie, "You must think me horrid."

  "Why? Because you were born Jewish? Very few of us are allowed to choose whom we would like to be born. I, for one, was given the option of springing to life either as prince regent, or as the son of a sot in the East End. How do you like my decision?"

  She smiled. "You do not think me a silly skitterwit, for being unable to decide what sort of life I wish to lead?"

  "On the contrary, I commend your honesty."

  "My honesty? You are commending my honesty? Now, there is something I never expected to hear you say."

  "You could have continued lying to me. It is a very brave soul who will admit to their shortcomings and doubts."

  "I feel so confused, Jamie. Who is Julia Highsmith? Am I the daughter of a peer? Am I a Jewess? Do I deserve a manor home? Do I deserve banishment to the ghetto?"

  "No one deserves banishment to a ghetto. Furthermore, there is no reason why you cannot be a Jewess and the daughter of a peer, simultaneously. It is what you are already."

  "But I do not act it. I act either one, or the other. Never both at the same time."

  "I have acted enough different roles simultaneously to field a cricket team and a half."

  Inexplicably, Julia burst into giggles. Jamie recognized the sound as the beginnings of nervous hysteria, and attempted to calm her, but Julia insisted on sputtering out the words, "Between all the people you have been, and all the roles I have acted, I am amazed the lot of us fit so comfortably into this one carriage."

  She barely noticed it when her unnatural laughter somehow turned into an agonized flood of tears, but, when Jamie reached for her hand, Julia allowed him to take it, gratefully collapsing into his comforting embrace, and clinging to Jamie as if he were the only dependable thing still left in her world.

  She felt so exhausted when they arrived at the inn that Julia nearly stumbled while stepping out of the carriage. Catching her by the waist, Jamie easily swept Julia into his arms, carrying her inside as he might have done for a sleepy child.

  Too tired to fight him, Julia merely rested her head against Jamie's chest, wrapping both hands about his neck for better balance. Her hair tickled his chin, smelling so sweetly of Julia herself that Jamie wanted to stop and deeply inhale its fragrance.

  However, such an act would look rather silly on the stairs to their room, so Jamie waited until they had gotten inside. Gently, he laid Julia on the bed, and reached to remove her shoes.

  She jumped as if he had bitten her, demanding, "What is it you think that you are doing?"

  A million responses swam through Jamie's mind, ranging from the sarcastic to the patronizing
to the heartbreakingly sincere.

  But Julia wasn't the only one feeling tired. After months of playing games, and wrestling for the upper hand, Jamie's limbs carried a weariness no amount of rest would ever be able to cure.

  Unable to summon up the energy to spar with Julia—or force himself to keep coming back every time she so roughly slammed him away—Jamie, instead, hurled her shoe against the far wall with such impact, that the windows shook.

  Julia jumped, terrified, and opened her mouth to apologize.

  But Jamie had already stormed out the door.

  A part of her believed that he might never come back.

  Instead of spending her night ironing out the final details for fooling Henri de Mornay and whisking Alexia out of the country, Julia spent it worrying about Jamie.

  What was wrong with her, anyhow? Why did she constantly continue saying and doing the wrong things in front of Jamie?

  He must probably hate her by now. And Julia could not blame him. Just once, why couldn't she treat him with some kindness, instead of constantly looking for hidden motives in his actions?

  She had felt so safe in his arms. So comfortable and secure, and . . . loved. Yes, that was the word. She had felt loved. Loved and protected, the way it used to be on all those mornings when she rode in the saddle in front of her father, and felt his strong, masculine arms wrapped around her shoulders. Only, with Jamie, the feelings that swept through her were all those and more. She not only felt safe, she felt . . . alive.

  All her perceptions heightened, until every breath she took felt clearer than ever before, with the surrounding sounds of night coming through crisper, and tactile sensations, such as the way the skin of his neck rubbed against her cheek, and the warmth of his palm supporting her waist, increased in their power, until Julia could feel Jamie in every pore of her being.

  And it was the overwhelming quality of the pleasure that so frightened her. Although by nature emotional, this evening with Jamie was the first time Julia had ever felt as if a given sentiment had actually grown larger than she was. That it were big enough to control her, instead of the other way around. And she felt terrified at the prospect.