The Fictitious Marquis

by Alina Adams

  "You think that I came to you because Gavin turned me away?"

  "What else could I think, Julia? What else could all your combined actions over the last months possibly lead me to think?"

  "I know," she said. "I have treated you dreadfully, Jamie. I realized as much while we were still in France."

  "Then why did you not say anything? What is more, why did you continue behaving in such a manner?"

  "Because . . ." Julia looked away. The wind whipping at her hair made Julia's curls dance wildly behind her head. Strands blew into her mouth, but she wiped them away, indifferent, and continued talking. "I was scared, Jamie."

  "Scared? Of me? What was there for Miss Julia Highsmith to fear from a piece of trash like me?"

  "You are not trash, Jamie. You are a kind, caring, brilliant, gentle man. And that, I am sorry to say, is why I feared you so."

  "Ah." Jamie nodded thoughtfully. "Kind, caring, brilliant, gentle. And what rotten character traits those are."

  In spite of herself, Julia's lips twisted into the faintest of smiles. She confessed, "It sounds foolish, I know. But, often, I suspected that I might have been happier if you were a lout and a boor. At least then, I would not have been so sorely tempted to fall in love with you."

  "Would that really have been so terrible?"

  "For me, yes, it would have. Falling in love would be the most dangerous thing that could ever happen to me. Because then I might be seduced into revealing all. And such a revelation might prove the death of me."

  He'd never thought about it in that way. Julia did speak some sense. A slipped word to the wrong individual, and life as she knew it could very easily be brought to a screeching halt. Like him, Julia lived in constant fear of discovery. But, unlike him, should she receive a life sentence, there would never even be the possibility of a parole. The ladies and gentlemen of the ton were an unforgiving lot.

  "But why in the world did you confess to Gavin, then?"

  "Because of you."

  "Me?"

  "You were so sympathetic when I told you of Miriam and Alexia's plight. Why, you even risked your life to help them. Naive little fool that I am, I thought perhaps I have been wrong all these years. Maybe my mother's and Uncle Collin's and Salome's fears have poisoned my mind against other people. Maybe the prejudice out there is not as insidious as everyone claims. After all, you did not call me names, or accuse me of stealing holy wafers that are the body of Christ and slicing them with knives."

  "I may only be an uneducated sot from the East End, Julia, but even I never believed the rumor that Jews have nothing better to do with their days than torture bits of cookie."

  "I know. Unfortunately, I made the mistake of assuming that Gavin would be as generous an individual as you. I was wrong."

  Jamie rubbed his hands together. Water still dripped from both shirt sleeves, and his pretending to be busy wringing them out, gave Jamie the time to think, and the excuse to avoid looking Julia in the eye.

  Unable to bear his silence, Julia pressed on. "So, you see, it does not matter to me if Gavin keeps silent or not. The moment I confessed all to him, I felt as if a great weight had been lifted off my shoulders. I no longer had anything to hide, so I no longer had anything to fear. I was free. Free to live my life as I wished, unencumbered by the presumptions of others. Free to go after you without the paralyzing fear of rejection, because, finally, I believed myself strong enough to be vulnerable. You gave that to me, Jamie. You, not Gavin. All he did was allow me the chance to put your theories to the test."

  "Then why did you not stop me from leaving this morning?"

  "Because I was a silly, frightened fool."

  "And now?"

  "Now I am still a silly, frightened fool. Only this morning, I was afraid that you might accept my offer. And now I am afraid that you might reject it."

  "What if you change your mind?"

  Julia repeated dumbly, "Change my mind?"

  "Yes. Listen to yourself, Julia. You just said this morning you felt one way, this afternoon you feel another. God only knows what this evening might bring. Consistency has never been your strongest character trait." Jamie mimicked Julia's voice, "No, Mr. Lowell, I will not dance the waltz with you. Yes, Mr. Lowell, I will dance the waltz with you."

  Julia's eyes grew large with indignation. "Surely, you will not judge my current statements on the basis of such . . . frivolity. How can you believe me to be so fickle and capricious a creature?"

  Jamie shrugged, "Convince me otherwise, Julia. Offer me an example of consistency in your behavior."

  The look on Julia's face indicated that, even in her wildest dreams, she had never dreamed he might prove so difficult. But Jamie felt he had to be. Julia's constant rejection had worked him into such a state that Jamie now categorically, absolutely, refused to go with her until he felt thoroughly convinced that she would never turn her back on him again. He was not asking such difficult questions merely to tease or taunt her. Those games had long ago moved to a part of their past. The only reason Jamie was asking Julia such difficult questions was because he, for his own peace of mind, badly needed to hear her answers.

  Julia waved her arms in the air, desperately searching for an adequate example. "I—I—I held to our initial bargain, did I not? You received the money I promised. Every farthing."

  "Our contract was for the period of one year. You terminated it at the end of three months."

  She rolled her eyes. "I was being kind. Surely, you are not going to hold my own kindness against me?"

  He shook his head, and redefined, "You were changing your mount mid-horse-race, again."

  Julia looked ready to scream.

  So that was exactly what she did. Throwing back her head, Julia let out a howl of frustration so loud, a handful of sailors turned to stare queerly. Julia ignored them.

  Inwardly, Jamie smiled. At least Julia had told him the truth about her no longer fearing what other people might think.

  She demanded, "How can I convince you of my sincerity, Jamie? How can I make you believe that I truly, truly mean it when I say that I want you to come back with me. To stay. For good."

  She covered her face with her hands, inhaling deeply and racking her brain for the perfect bit of proof that might convince Jamie once and for all.

  And, despite all of his resistance, inside of Jamie beat a heart that, with every knock against his chest, ached for some simple honest truths from Julia.

  In point of fact, he even wondered who wanted it more, Julia to convince him, or Jamie to be convinced.

  Finally, she dropped her hands to her sides. A peaceful smile illuminated Julia's face. Calmly, she told Jamie, "I know how I may convince you. But it requires your coming with me. I wish to show you something."

  "My ship departs tonight. I have already paid for passage."

  "Give me a single afternoon, Jamie. If you still wish to leave the country at the end of that afternoon, I will personally purchase you a replacement ticket. First class, so that you need not fear getting your throat cut. What have you to lose?"

  Isaac smiled broadly when he saw Julia returning to the carriage with Jamie in tow. Yet, his expression darkened ever so slightly when Julia whispered their next destination into his ear.

  "Isaac," Jamie reached up, in a horrible breech of standard protocol, to shake the footman's hand. "How wonderful to see you again. How long has it been? Three, four hours?"

  He did not know where Julia was planning to take him, except that the roads they moved along on were all decorated with signs hammered onto posts that pointed to London.

  Jamie and Julia sat facing each other inside the carriage, neither saying a word. Jamie, still wet, and now also cold from his spontaneous swimming exhibition, blew on his hands, trying to stay warm. Silently, Julia reached across, wrapping both her palms around his fingers and rubbing gently.

  God, but how he wanted to believe her. He yearned to believe her. But, still, there were those nagging doubts.

/>   Jamie did not—could not—believe that Julia sincerely loved him. What, after all, was there to love?

  On the one hand, hundreds of women had already fallen for Jamie's charms in the past. But that had been different. They fell not for the true man, but for the fiction he'd created. Their love for him was based on an illusion he'd personally created.

  But Julia knew the real Jamie Lowell. She knew him better than any other woman ever had. And she proclaimed to love him anyway. That was what Jamie could not understand.

  He did not recognize the part of London that Julia ordered Isaac to drive through, and Jamie grew even more confused as they approached a large wooden gate that seemed to stretch for blocks in either direction. Through the gate bustled what, to Jamie, resembled an entirely walled-in city.

  And then he recognized why this were an area of the capitol Jamie had never been to.

  He turned to Julia, whispering, "This is the Jewish ghetto."

  She nodded. "No need to hush your voice, Jamie. They know where they live."

  Slowly, Isaac maneuvered his carriage through the gate, trotting the horses at a lesser than average pace, so as to avoid the holes in the road, and the crowd of people milling about in too small a space. Inside, boys and men, all to the last wearing small hats that, to Jamie, resembled Catholic cardinal caps, pushed and shoved through the crowds. Some pulled barrows heaped with fruits and vegetables, some carts with rags.

  Others, from the sagging bags of coins tied to their belts, Jamie recognized as the money lenders who plied their trade in the shadows of fine gentlemen's gambling clubs. And they did not look nearly as sinister in the day as they did in the night.

  Isaac continued maneuvering their carriage through the tight and crowded streets, hissing in a language Jamie could not understand for those who got too close to keep their distance. He stopped at the door of a two-story building in the center of the ghetto, the upper level of which was dominated by a large, six-point star, carved from wood and mounted on the western wall.

  Julia beckoned for Jamie to follow her inside. He climbed reluctantly out of the carriage, looking down at the mess he'd made of his clothes, and wishing that he had chosen to keep some of the more proper coats and shirts Julia bought for him.

  Indoors, the sole illumination for the synagogue came from its nine windows. Obviously, gas lights had yet to make their appearance in this part of town. Twelve pews, in two rows of six, stretched from the front door to the altar. If it weren't for the desk tops jutting from the backs of the benches—and the lack of a large cross at the head—Jamie might have thought he were in a rather poor, unadorned, country church.

  Julia explained about the desks. "The synagogue is also used as a school for boys during the week."

  "Oh," Jamie said. "Well, now that I understand that, all I need to know is why we are here."

  "Sit down and wait," Julia indicated the front pew. "And you might want to cover your head while we are here."

  As Julia disappeared through a back door by the altar, Jamie searched high and low for a little hat like he had seen other men wear outside. But there were none to spare.

  He picked up one of the prayer books lying in a box in the corner, but could not recognize a single letter. Not only that, but the text seemed to run from right to left, instead of left to right, like in normal volumes.

  "Jamie," Julia kept her voice low, although they were the only ones there. She emerged from the back room, leading by the hand an elderly man with a long white beard and stooped shoulders, who shuffled his feet one ahead of the other in his walk towards Jamie.

  "This is Rabbi Mennahem Mendelson," Julia said. "He will be performing our wedding ceremony."

  Jamie did not know what to say.

  A lump rose in his throat as the full significance of Julia's actions became clear. She was taking a terrible risk, going into the ghetto in daylight. Anyone could see her either entering or departing, and raise all sorts of awkward questions. And yet Julia was willing to take such a chance, so that she could prove to Jamie the truth of her words.

  The rabbi explained to Jamie, "I will be performing the ceremony in the holy language of the Jews. All that I require of you, my son, is a confirmation. After I have finished reciting the prayers, you must give your consent to this marriage by answering with a single word. The word amen."

  "Amen?" Jamie asked in surprise. "But, I—people say that in church. How can that be the language of the Jews?"

  The rabbi and Julia exchanged smiles.

  He said, "It is a combination of two of our words, Mr. Lowell. Ani, which means I. And me'ameen, which means believe. Ani me'ameen. I believe."

  He beckoned Jamie and Julia towards the altar, underneath a piece of cloth stretched between four posts. Both silently took their places. The rabbi produced a small, well-worn, leather covered book from out of one pocket, and solemnly began to read, or, rather, to chant, out loud.

  "Do you believe me now?" Julia whispered in counterpoint to the ceremony. "Do you believe me, Jamie, when I say that I love you? When I say that I want you to stay with me for good? No matter what happens with me in the ton, no matter what Gavin does or does not do. Do you believe me when I say that I do not take the vows I make in this wedding ceremony lightly, and that I intend to be a good wife to you in every sense of the word?"

  The rabbi was coming to the end of his prayer. He turned, expectantly, to Jamie and gestured that it were his turn to speak.

  It was now or never.

  So Jamie Lowell, the fictitious marquis of Martyn, took a deep breath, and, turning from the rabbi to Julia, he took her hand in his, and softly said, "Amen."

  EPILOGUE

  "They don't like the English very much in America, do they?" Julia leaned against the ship's rail, tilting her head to prevent the warm summer wind from playfully tossing her hair back in her face, and looked out at the water, noting how their vessel's narrowed tip seemed to slice every wave neatly in two.

  "Especially titled English." Jamie wrapped both his arms about Julia's waist, pressing her back to his chest, and lightly kissing the top of her head. "I believe they hang them. But perhaps that was only during their revolution."

  "In the interest of not reliving our first meeting, I suppose you shall have to stop playing the marquis, and become simply Mr. Jamie Lowell again."

  "Thank goodness," he turned her around so that Julia might face him. She raised one hand to shield her eyes from the sun. "I was growing rather weary of being bowed to. Made me think the poor chaps had dropped something."

  Julia laughed and rested both her arms against Jamie's chest, smoothing down the buttons of his shirt. "I am glad that we could stay long enough to witness Aunt Salome's wedding. Just think of it, Jamie. She and the marquis even beat our record for speedy marriage. Only my aunt could arrange an entire wedding ceremony and celebration breakfast in a single fortnight."

  "Tell me something." Jamie cradled Julia's hands between his, rubbing her fingers with his thumbs and bringing first one palm, then the other to his lips. "Why can no one woman in your family simply get married like a regular person?"

  "Whatever do you mean?"

  "What is this fascination you seem to possess with striking marital deals? Did you know that Salome had agreed to wed the marquis in exchange for my temporarily borrowing his title?"

  "Not a word, Jamie, I swear it."

  He clicked his tongue against his teeth, playfully chastising, "There I am, dueling for my life, and she had already arranged for it all beforehand."

  "It was the only way that the marquis would agree to go along with us. He never did gracefully accept Salome's turning down his proposal all those years ago." Shivering slightly, Julia slipped Jamie's arms about her shoulders, pressing her cheek against his chest, and sighing contentedly. "I am so glad that Salome found someone to take care of her and Alexia. And if I ever worried about Henri de Mornay returning to cause trouble, well, the marquis of Martyn is most certainly a match for any man,
wouldn't you say?"

  "Walking stick and all." Jamie mimed ducking one of the old man's notoriously wild swings. "Although, considering that letter Henri sent, damning us all to hell, I doubt that he shall be taking much of a future interest in Alexia."

  "Thank God for that. Miriam can finally rest in peace."

  Jamie took a step back, pensively studying Julia at arm's length, and, repeated the same question he'd been parroting ever since they'd climbed aboard. "You are certain then, that this is what you want? Leaving England and your family and your life?"

  "I was the one who suggested it, after all."

  "I hope it isn't Gavin that's driving you away, because all you need do is say the word, and I can arrange a chat with Lord Neff to insure his never so much as thinking of opening his mouth to disgrace you and Salome. I can be very persuasive when I want to be, you know that, luv."

  "Oh, that I do indeed." She laughed gaily, remembering both the instances he'd proven as much, and Jamie's delicious attempt to teach her the tricks of the trade. "But, truly, this is what I want. I am so tired of pretending, and I know that you are as well. If it weren't for Salome's marriage, I would have felt perfectly content to confess everything to the ton. But I will not embarrass the marquis of Martyn in such a manner." Julia swore, "I want us to start a new life. No history, no lies, no bargains. Just you and I, Jamie."

  He still looked unconvinced, head cocked to one side, lips crinkling and sliding toward the left of his face. Julia wondered how she might assure Jamie of her sincerity in swearing that, truly, as long as he were beside her, she did not care where they lived, or if she ever saw London again.