The Fictitious Marquis

by Alina Adams

  Julia could not afford such a calamity. Leading a double life required her remaining in possession of all of her faculties at all times. She did not dare risk a distraction. Which was exactly what Mr. Jamie Lowell turned out to be. She'd known it from the first day at the prison, when his relaxed, mocking attitude had so befuddled Julia that she barely knew what to say.

  He'd done it again at the ball, and at their wedding. Both times, Julia had felt willing to succumb to him, rather than stubbornly continue on with the path she had chosen, the one that she knew it were imperative to follow.

  In her head, Julia suspected that Jamie's choosing never to return would be the best thing that could happen to her.

  But, in her heart, she suspected that it might also, quite possibly, kill her.

  She awoke the next morning, after a night spent tossing and turning, feeling as if a tree trunk were lying across her chest. She could still remember the way Jamie had looked at her, in the instant before throwing her shoe against the wall. He had been angry, yes. Disgusted, tired. But also disappointed.

  Julia dunked her head in the basin of cold water, hoping that it might shake off some of the lethargy that so plagued her. It succeeded only in making her teeth chatter, and standing the hair in back of her neck on end. She wiped her face vigorously with a towel, then quickly dressed, stuffing the rest of her belongings in a trunk in preparation for returning to England as soon as she fetched Alexia. No item in the room stood disturbed. Obviously, Jamie had not come back while she slept.

  Resolving not to think of her missing husband, Julia took a final glance at her face in the mirror, deciding that, under the circumstances, this was the best she was going to look, and opened the door of her room.

  On the other side, arm raised as if to knock, stood Jamie.

  15

  Julia blurted out, unthinking, "You came back."

  "I would welcome any thoughts you might harbor on the possible reasons as to why." Jamie blocked the doorway with one hand.

  "I—I don't rightly know."

  "The closest I can figure, is that I am terribly afraid of your botching this entire job, and leaving me to pick up the pieces. In case you've forgotten, I do have a criminal record."

  "What has that to do with anything? I am the one committing the crime."

  "And I will be the one they call an accomplice. Should the law catch up with us, I offer you one guess as to which party will end up with a slap on the wrist and a trip back to jolly old England, and which party will be living out the rest of his life in prison. A French prison. Where they do not need nooses, because the richness of their sauces will probably kill you." He sighed, rubbing one hand against the other. "But, unfortunately, I am a professional. And it would be a breach of trade ethics to allow an amateur to perform a task I alone possess the specialized training to complete."

  If anything, Miriam looked worse on the morning of Julia's second visit than she had during her first.

  This time, she barely found the energy to raise her head when speaking to Julia. When being introduced to Jamie, she requested that he stand at the foot of the bed, where Miriam did not have to turn her head to look at him.

  Unsure of what Jamie's reaction might be to a woman so ill, Julia kept a close eye on him. But she need not have worried. Within a moment, Jamie had turned on enough charm to have even Miriam smiling weakly, as Jamie acted out for her the nuptials she had missed last week. He appeared not to notice the infectious, open sores dotting Miriam's arms and lips, or the grotesque manner in which her sunken face now resembled a living skull.

  And, after only a few minutes of Jamie speaking to her as if she were still the beautiful woman of weeks past, Miriam even appeared to rally a little. While Jamie spoke, Miriam's gaze briefly shifted to Julia, and she winked, offering a final stamp of approval on her cousin's choice of a husband.

  Reluctant to interrupt what was probably the most pleasant time Miriam had experienced in months, Julia nevertheless indicated the clock on the mantelpiece, and reminded, "We had best fetch Alexia. It is almost time for us to go."

  Miriam nodded and asked Jamie, "Would you kindly call my daughter? She should be in the schoolroom right now."

  "Certainly." A gentleman to the end, Jamie bowed and kissed Miriam's hand before departing.

  "Such a handsome man," Miriam said. "And so dear. You are very lucky, Julia. A man like that would never betray you."

  Julia wondered if Jamie believed the same to be true about her. She certainly hoped so.

  "Maman?" Little Alexia appeared in the doorway, clutching on to Jamie's fingers as if they'd been friends forever.

  Miriam beckoned her child closer, gesturing for Alexia to sit on the edge of the bed, and proceeding to whisper in French.

  After only a few words, Alexia grew agitated. She looked over her shoulder at Julia and Jamie, then violently shook her head no, grabbing Miriam's arm and hugging it tightly.

  Tears in her eyes, Miriam nodded yes, and tried to untangle herself from Alexia's grip.

  "Non," Alexia's voice rose to a desperate shriek, and she clutched Miriam even tighter, kicking her legs against the bed. Switching to English, Alexia screamed at Jamie and Julia, "No, no, I do not want to go. I want to stay. I do not want to go."

  Julia tried soothing the girl by embracing her, but Alexia threw off Julia's hands, and buried her face in Miriam's chest, sobbing hysterically, and holding on with all of her might.

  "Alexia, darling, please," Julia pleaded. The child's torment was upsetting Miriam to where she was having trouble breathing.

  "No, let me be, let me be. I want to stay home with Maman."

  "Alexia!" Jamie grabbed the little girl around the waist with one arm, pulled her off of Miriam, and set her down on the ground, a hand on each shoulder. She tried wriggling to get out of his grip, and, when that failed, commenced kicking and biting. Jamie merely continued holding Alexia at a harmless distance, waiting until she was spent and exhausted from struggling.

  "Listen to me, Alexia," he finally said.

  If Julia thought she had heard every tone available in Jamie's arsenal, then she was mistaken. The voice he used for Alexia was firm, no-nonsense, a little bit intimidating, but also kind and caring. He said, "I want you to hear what I have to say, young lady, because, as your Aunt Julia will tell you, I hate to repeat myself. Now. Do you love your mother, Alexia?"

  The little girl sniffled, looking from Miriam to Jamie, and whispered, "Yes."

  "Yes, what?"

  "Yes, I love my mother."

  "Do you believe that your mother loves you?"

  "Yes."

  "Do you want your mother to be happy?"

  "Of course, I do."

  "Well, then, can you try and understand how your mother loves you so much, that the only way she can be happy is to know that you are safe." Jamie brushed a strand of damp hair from the girl's face, and loosened his grip. "And you cannot be safe in France."

  The last of her sobs escaped Alexia's chest as a dry gasp. "I know. Maman told me what Papa wishes to do."

  "Then you know why it is so important that you come to England with your Aunt Julia and myself. We will take care of you, and we will love you. Although, you and I both know, that no one in your life could ever love you as much as your mother does."

  "He is right, Alexia," Miriam said softly. "He is right."

  Jamie peered into the girl's eyes with a hypnotic intensity Julia recognized from previous occasions. "This is the most difficult thing you will ever have to do, Alexia. But you must do it. Not only for your sake, but for your mother's as well."

  "I do not want to leave my home." Alexia wiped her lashes with a damp sleeve.

  "Leaving home is never simple. But, believe me when I tell you that it does grow easier. You learn to carry everything that is important in here," Jamie tapped Alexia's chest over her heart. "And you learn not to give away pieces of yourself to other people, so that you do not have to leave pieces of yourself behind." />
  Now it wasn't only Alexia wiping away tears. Julia had to bite her lip to keep from making a noise and shattering the tentative rapport Jamie was building with Miriam's daughter.

  "I know what you are feeling, Alexia, and I know that, for a long time, you are going to continue feeling angry, and lost, and determined never to trust another soul, until the pain inside becomes like a heavy fog that you believe is never, ever going to blow away." He was squatting now, nearly at the child's eye level. "But do you know what, Alexia? It does blow away. One day, just when you are certain that the heavy feeling in your chest is something that will be there, be a part of you, for the rest of your life, you will meet someone unexpected. Someone with a smile so beautiful, that it will cut right through all the pain inside, and lift it away without so much as a scar. And that, Alexia, is when you'll know that you have finally come home again."

  When it came time to leave, Julia could do no more than brush Miriam's cheek with her lips, then hurriedly turn away, lest Julia completely collapse. It had proven difficult enough to watch the tearful, murmured good-byes between Alexia and her mother, and Julia feared, should she start crying again, that this time she would find it impossible to stop.

  So it fell to Jamie to take Miriam's hand and reassure, "I swear to you, Madame de Mornay, your daughter will want for nothing. Julia and I will do everything we can to ensure her comfort and happiness."

  "I know, Mr. Lowell," Miriam pressed Jamie's hand to her face. "You have already assured mine."

  In the past, whenever Jamie surprised her and did something so sweet, so considerate, that it made her heart ache, Julia managed to halt the avalanche of sentiment that his tenderness involuntarily stirred within her by growing quarrelsome and goading Jamie into doing the same. But his consideration for Miriam, his gentleness with Alexia, and Jamie's general willingness to help Julia with a task he might have simply maligned, stripped her of any and all traditional defenses.

  Instead of rejecting the sentiment, or feeling threatened by it, Julia cherished the memory of Jamie's kindness, hoarding it in her breast like a last bit of coal on a cold day, and returning to it again and again to revel in the pleasurable warmth of its glow.

  On the carriage ride back to the inn, Julia watched Jamie with Alexia. He held the little girl on his lap, letting her cry against Jamie's chest until there were no more tears left, and then gently rocking her back and forth, whispering things in Alexia's ear that Julia could not hear, but guessed, from the gradually peaceful expression on Alexia's face, to be of great comfort.

  Looking at Jamie now, so pleasing with the child in his arms, Julia could not, for the life of her recall what had ever made him appear so threatening to her in the first place. Why had she feared Jamie so, to the point of deliberately making him angry, lest he somehow break through her defenses? Why had she gone out of her way to make him act in a provoking manner to her, when, in reality, there was no sensation sweeter than the understanding and acceptance of his true nature.

  Miriam and Alexia recognized the good in Jamie immediately. It were only Julia, who prided herself on being most intelligent, who had taken the longest to spot—and admit—its existence.

  It took only a few minutes, once back at the inn, for Julia to finish packing her trunk in preparation for fleeing France.

  While Jamie went downstairs to inquire of the proprietor where they might hire a rig to port, Julia carelessly stuffed her belongings in their approximately proper places. Alexia sat on the bed, clutching a doll dressed in blue satin to her chest, and wordlessly watching Julia scurry about the room. Her dark eyes reflected a dull, emotionless shock, one that prevented Alexia from either objecting or approving of her new surroundings.

  Julia saw a flicker of relief cross Alexia's features when Jamie finally returned to their room and absently stroked the little girl's hair. To Julia, he whispered, "I am afraid that we have a minor complication, m'lady."

  Gesturing for Jamie to move away from Alexia, Julia beckoned him into a corner and hopefully out of her hearing range to ask, "What is it? What has happened?"

  "I had a nice bit o'chat with the fellow who manages this domicile. In his broken English he told me an alert's been sounded to every Charlie—or whatever they're called here—in France, by a gentleman in Paris, who claims his daughter's been snatched by criminals, for the purpose of extorting ransom."

  "No," Julia covered her mouth with one hand. "How? How could Henri have heard of it so quickly?"

  "The household staff at Miriam's."

  Julia shook her head. "They are very loyal to her."

  "You will forgive me for saying so, m'lady, but, based on my rather extensive personal experience with the service class, I would hazard to guess that the only loyalty Miriam's staff harbors is towards the soul that doles out their weekly salary. And that, unless I am mistaken, would be Monsieur, not Madame, de Mornay."

  "Someone must have sent a messenger to Henri in Paris."

  Jamie said, "We'd best be going then. And quickly."

  Walking the distance from the inn to the livery stable two streets away, Julia imagined she could feel the eyes of every passerby pasted upon her, upon Jamie, and, most importantly, upon the eerily silent Alexia. If one child had been reported missing, surely then, every couple with a little girl would instantly fall under some sort of suspicion. Especially when they were strangers to the area, and looking for transportation out of the country.

  Loosening her cape, Julia wrapped one end of the reddish brown garment about Alexia's shoulders, as if protecting her from the chill, but, in reality, struggling to keep her face hidden. Alexia acquiesced without a peep, as she had acquiesced to everything else since being forced to leave home. And her unnatural solemnity, to Julia, seemed to scream louder than any other piece of evidence, that all was not right with the three of them.

  At the livery stable, Julia had barely gotten a chance to open her mouth and request a rig, when the establishment owner's eyes slid to Alexia. He smiled at the little girl, and asked a few rather innocuous questions on how she were enjoying her holiday. But, unfortunately for them, Miriam's frightened daughter merely stared back blankly, and shook her head from side to side.

  Desperately, Julia hoped that he might merely think Alexia dull-witted and stop his nosy-poking to return to the subject at hand. But, instead, the man peered queerly at Alexia and then at Julia and Jamie, taking a step back and placing both hands on his hips, as he studied the illicit threesome from a different angle.

  Eyes narrowing into slits, he asked Julia, "Strangers to this part of the country, are you?"

  "Yes." Julia pulled Alexia closer, wishing she could somehow make them both invisible. "Yes, we are."

  The man wagged his finger at the little girl, and clicked his tongue. "Have I not previously seen you about, mademoiselle?"

  "No," Julia stubbornly insisted, while Alexia continued staring straight ahead in deafening silence.

  Unwilling to wait and see what sort of conclusion he drew from their most peculiar family portrait, and realizing that, at the very least, should the law ask him questions, Alexia's unnatural behavior had insured his remembering and identifying them, Julia grabbed Alexia by one arm, swiftly yanking her out of the stable and onto the street, without barely a glance back to check if Jamie understood to follow.

  She realized that he had when Julia felt a pair of masculine hands scoop Alexia out of her grasp, so that the three might move faster, followed by a tug on her own shoulder, and a hiss to duck into the alley rather than attempt to escape in plain view of everyone on the sidewalk. She could hear the livery stable's owner shouting after them, as well as the startled exclamations of the men and women they were forced to push aside while running. Julia's bonnet flew off her head, and she left it to lie on the street. Julia's skirt tangled about her legs, and, propriety aside, she hiked it up a few inches above her ankle, no longer able to force herself into caring what other people might think.

  Following Jamie,
Julia turned the corner and into a back alley, no longer running on paved road, but rather on sewage-drenched cobblestone. The hem of her gown grew gray and damp. Pebbles flew up, scratching her calves, tearing her stockings.

  The distance between her and Jamie stretched greater, as Julia felt the stabbing pain in her left side that suggested she may have run a bit too much. She could barely breathe, needing to gasp and cough. Spent, Julia leaned against an alley wall, doubled over in pain, and rested her head on her arms. She had not even the strength to call out for Jamie to stop.

  Willing her head to cease its spinning, and her stomach to unclench, Julia barely heard the echo of Jamie's footsteps as he doubled back through the alley, setting Alexia on the ground, and standing beside her, demanding, "Have you completely lost all of your senses, Julia?"

  Considering how she felt, chest constricting, heart pounding, legs, arms and side throbbing in painful unison, Julia could only wish for his sarcastic question to come true. Instead, she shook her head weakly.

  He continued, "I swear, I think you have gone mad. What was the meaning of running off in such a pell-mell manner? If the gentleman did not judge us guilty previously, I assure you, he most certainly does now. Running away always implies guilt."

  "I was frightened," Julia choked out.

  "Needlessly. We were doing nothing wrong, save hiring a rig. And there is of yet no law against such behavior in France."

  "If you . . . if you," Julia slowly forced herself to rise and inhale, "if you truly believed that running were the worst course of action to take, then why did you follow me?"

  "I would have looked rather the fool letting you bolt off like a madwoman, whilst I continued carrying on our business transaction as if nothing were amiss. Secondly, I may be dressed like a gentleman, but I still possess the instincts of an East End boy. When I see someone running, I run. There is usually adequate opportunity later to inquire what it is that we are running from."