by Meara Platt
She stood by the door and watched Arthur lope back to the village, finally closing it when he disappeared into the woods and out of sight.
“It does look official,” Homer murmured, a small frown creasing his brow.
“What?”
“Forgive me, I didn’t mean to pry. Go off and read it, if ye like. Let me know if I can be of any assistance to ye, lass.”
She cast him an appreciative smile and hurried into the kitchen. She didn’t need to open it to know it had to do with the new vicar. Who else would have written to her from Canterbury?
“Please tell me we can stay,” she whispered, her hands shaking as she opened the letter and read it.
And read it again.
And again.
*
“Julia, what has happened?”
She wanted to tell Douglas – no, Lord Eastbourne – to go away and leave her to her misery, but she was in no state to fashion a reply. The new vicar hadn’t even tried to be kind and his letter amounted to little more than a notice of eviction! He’d brusquely informed her that he wanted her and Charlie out.
Out of the only home they’d ever known!
Just like that!
Without an ounce of charity, piety, sympathy, empathy, or accommodation.
“Julia, please tell me what’s wrong.” Lord Eastbourne placed an arm about her shoulders and gently turned her to face him. The next thing she knew, she was in his arms, clinging to his solid strength, her cheek resting against the comforting warmth of his chest while the only world she ever knew simply fell to pieces.
He held her tight, tenderly stroking her cheek and murmuring soothing words as tears streamed down her face. But she could not be soothed when she and Charlie had no place to go.
And what was to become of Charlie? How would he survive in new surroundings when he’d barely survived in the old? What of the bluebell garden, King Cadeyrn, and the rest of Charlie’s imaginary friends?
Douglas pried the letter out of her hand and insisted upon reading it.
“You mustn’t trouble yourself,” she started to say, but he stopped her with a soft growl.
“Let me have a look at it.” It was an order, not a request.
She sniffled against his shirt as he perused the vile letter. Indeed, she’d dampened the front of his shirt with her tears despite her efforts to remain composed. He felt so strong and warm and safe. He smelled of sandalwood and pine, of male perfection.
“We’ll move the bluebells to a new garden,” he said in a murmur, almost to himself.
“What?” She gazed up to study his expression, surprised to find him staring back at her with a look one might mistake for caring or protectiveness. She knew it couldn’t be so. He didn’t trust her. He thought she was a thief.
“We’ll move the bluebells. And King Cadeyrn. And–”
“Stop! You don’t understand. I have no place to move them to.”
He sighed heavily. Very heavily.
She felt his warm breath against her ear, mingling with the stray curls at the nape of her neck. Then he moved away, leaving her cold and alone and not knowing what to do. “Of course, you do. You and Charlie shall come to Eastbourne with me.”
Chapter 7
Douglas had envisioned many possible outcomes to his visit, but none included wishing to bring Julia home with him. Yet he felt violently protective right now as he watched the young girl struggle to hold herself together and not cry her heart out over the vicar’s letter.
Oh, she’d spilled a few tears, but he did not think less of her for it. The tenor of that odious letter would have been enough to shock the bravest of souls.
He continued to watch her as she stood before him, holding herself proudly and obviously determined to hide her vulnerability. That mix of strength and softness pierced his defenses with the efficiency of a sharply honed sword forged of Damascus steel.
Damn the new vicar.
He’d wring the man’s pious neck.
But who was he to pass judgment when he’d acted little better? “You and Charlie shall stay with me. I insist upon it.”
“Even though you don’t trust me?” She gazed at him, hope mingled with confusion.
There was magic in her eyes, in their magnificent violet-blue depths, as though drawn from secret waterfalls hidden in enchanted hollows. “I’m serious, Julia.”
She inhaled sharply. “Please, you can’t jest about such a thing.”
“Do you have anywhere else to go? Family in the area?”
“No,” she said in a strangled whisper. “Charlie is my only family.”
“Then it’s settled.” He nudged her toward the sitting room, knowing Charlie must have heard her cries and grown concerned.
But as he entered, he saw the boy smiling up at him, his cheeks flushed and eyes glistening with excitement. Douglas glanced at Homer, who shrugged his shoulders and appeared just as puzzled by the boy’s apparent glee.
“Charlie, there’s something I must tell you.” He paused a moment to gaze at Julia, who stood ashen-faced by his side. Having received two serious blows in short order, first from him and now from the new vicar, her heart was reeling, leaving her obviously dizzy and in danger of swooning. He wanted to draw her into his arms again and just hold her, but that need to take care of her was a new and frightening sensation. He would keep her close, but could never let her near his heart.
Nor did he wish to encourage their friendship.
He proceeded carefully, also unwilling to add to her concerns by making promises to the boy that he might not be able to keep. Julia had been right about several things, the most serious being the manner in which Society and his own damn family would treat the child, even if the truth of his birthright were known.
His mother would still consider him inferior, damaged and of tainted blood. His father had spoken of disowning all issue of his brother, whether legitimate or illegitimate. His rambling had meant nothing to Douglas at the time because he hadn’t known of young Charlie’s existence. Had the old man petitioned Parliament to cut Charles’ issue from inheriting the title and the entailed lands? Surely he would have heard if his father had succeeded in getting such an act passed. Society would have been abuzz with the news.
Julia nodded to signal her reluctant consent to his offer.
Oh, he understood the extent of her concession, her humiliation in accepting to live at Eastbourne, under his thumb and subject to eviction the moment he decided she was no longer necessary. But she would come along to protect Charlie from the cruelties of the outside world. “Charlie,” he started, but managed no more before the boy let out a gleeful whoop.
“Uncle Douglas, I know what you’re going to say! King Cadeyrn told me! You’re taking me with you. He knew Julia would give in today!”
Julia let out a wrenching sob and rushed to the boy, hugging him to her breast with the fierceness of a lioness protecting her cub. “My little love. Oh, Charlie!”
Tears streamed down her cheeks.
Douglas yearned to reach out and gently wipe them away. But he refrained for she was caught up in a tender moment with the boy and he thought it unwise to interfere.
Charlie began to cry, too. He returned Julia’s hug with a fierce one of his own. “I’ll miss you so much, Julia. But King Cadeyrn promised to take care of you. He promised!”
“Charlie–”
“I’d never agree to leave you otherwise. You’ll be safe in the Fae realm. And you must visit me as often as possible. Uncle Douglas will plant bluebells outside my window so that I shall see you in the garden every day. Won’t you, Uncle Douglas? You must. I won’t leave Julia unless you promise to plant them.”
Douglas exchanged a troubled glance with Julia, then placed a hand on the lad’s shoulder. “Of course, as many bluebells as you wish. But as for Julia, she’s coming with us. You’ll see her every day in your new home, a dozen times a day if you wish. I’ll settle her in the bedchamber next to yours.”
“Coming
with us?”
“I’ll always be with you, for as long as you need me,” Julia chimed in, sniffling as she lightly ran her sleeve against her cheek to dry her tears. “Right by your side.”
Charlie’s eyes grew wide. “What about King Cadeyrn?”
There was something disturbing in the boy’s tone, but Douglas couldn’t put his finger on quite what it was.
“Oh, Charlie,” Julia said with a chuckle, “what about him?”
*
Julia was lost in thought later that evening, standing on a stool while stacking her plates back in the cupboard after a pleasant supper, when Charlie suddenly shrieked. “Julia! Watch out!”
Startled, she let go of the stack of plates and heard the sharp tinkle of shattering china as they crashed to the floor, one atop the other, like dominos toppling in a row. “Oh, no! They’re all ruined!”
Then her stool began to wobble violently. “What the–”
She lost her balance and fell, striking her head on the kitchen table and tumbling to the floor, unable to save herself from the sharp, blinding pain that engulfed her.
Then all went black.
Moments later, she wasn’t certain how much later, she heard whispers.
She recognized Charlie’s quivering voice. “Is she alive, Uncle Douglas?”
Poor dear! Was he crying?
“I hope so,” she heard Lord Eastbourne mutter under his breath. He leaned over her body and put his hand gently to her neck, then began to probe lower in a slow, methodical descent. His fingers were magical against her skin, leaving almost no part of her body unaffected by his touch. “She is, Charlie. Her neck is warm and I feel a faint pulse at its base.” His hands continued to roam over her body with a masculine sensuality that made her blood pump faster through her veins. “No broken bones. She’s very fortunate.” He emitted a ragged sigh.
Perhaps her bones weren’t broken, Julia realized with much relief, but she was aching and sore. Her head throbbed like a cannon firing within her temples.
“Are you certain she’s alive?” There was an even more noticeable quiver to Charlie’s voice.
“I’m certain. Put your cheek against her lips, like this.” Julia felt the graze of the earl’s skin against her mouth, the trace of his stubble as he showed the boy what to do. “Do you feel her light breaths?”
Then she felt Charlie’s smooth cheek, slightly damp from his tears. “Yes. I feel them.”
As soon as the boy drew away, Lord Eastbourne carefully lifted her off the floor and into his arms. “She needs to be settled comfortably, but not here in the kitchen.”
Julia felt the shift of his hard muscles against her cheek as he sought a suitable place to set her down. “The sitting room,” he decided.
“Won’t do,” Julia tried to whisper, but couldn’t form the words. The sitting room was functional, but not lavish. The pieces of furniture were, for the most part, simple. The room held a table, a stiff settee meant for sitting upright, and a cozy chair by the sitting room hearth, not far from Charlie’s favorite spot by the window. Even though it was quite comfortable, she couldn’t stretch out in it.
“My room’s closer,” Charlie suggested, still sniffling. “Set her down in my bed, Uncle Douglas. I’ll watch over her.”
“Yours it is.” He carried her out of the kitchen and into Charlie’s small bedchamber.
She heard the roll of Charlie’s chair behind them. A moment later, she breathed in his little boy scent when he drew close and put his hand on hers. “Oh, Julia! I didn’t mean it. I never meant to hurt you.”
Lord Eastbourne let out a soft growl. “You, Charlie? You weren’t anywhere near her when she fell. It isn’t your fault, lad. It isn’t anyone’s fault. Just a horrible accident.”
“Then you don’t blame King Cadeyrn?”
“King Cadeyrn?” Lord Eastbourne repeated with an edge to his voice. “What has he to do with Julia’s injury?”
“He was so angry about you taking her away, but I never thought… I should have stopped him.”
“Julia was at the losing end of a battle with the slippery floor, nothing more. However, all this talk of King Cadeyrn troubles me. Charlie is there something you’re not telling me?”
“Not telling you?”
Julia recognized evasion in the boy’s tone and knew he was hiding something important. But what? She tried to order Charlie to tell the truth, but the words merely rattled in her brain and would not come to her lips.
“I want you to confide in me,” Lord Eastbourne coaxed, obviously sensing Charlie’s reluctance. “I’ll protect you. I promise.” He paused a beat before continuing. “Is there something you wish to warn me about Julia?” He paused another beat. “Are you afraid of her?”
The wretch! She’d believed the earl caring and supportive. Had her arms been free – lord, they felt like lead weights – she would have planted him a facer. She tried to open her eyes, but her lids were as heavy as quarry stones.
She tried to sit up, but the pounding resumed in her head and she feared she would faint again.
“Uncle Douglas! Julia’s loved me longer than anyone I know. Longer than King Cadeyrn or you! If anything, I’m afraid for her. She’s never hurt anyone, nor would she ever! But you wish to hurt her.”
“Now, Charlie–”
“You’re the one who makes her cry. You think you can do whatever you wish without a care for her feelings. It isn’t right!”
Lord Eastbourne sighed, calm despite the chiding he’d just received from the ten-year-old boy. “I owe you an apology, Charlie. I deserved that blistering set down. Probably deserved many in my life. In my own defense, I came with good intentions. You’re my nephew and I wish to protect you.”
“Julia’s the one who needs protection,” Charlie insisted.
Julia let out a snort.
“Uncle Douglas, she’s waking up!”
“I see that. Thank goodness.” He placed his hand upon her forehead. “Feels like she’s on fire. Julia, can you hear me?”
She blinked her eyes.
“There’s a good girl.” He ordered her to squeeze his hand this time.
She tried.
“Excellent. She’s starting to come around, Charlie. Watch her while I fetch a cold compress for that nasty lump on her brow. Hold her hand, tell her how much you love her. Ladies like to hear that.”
How many women had he seduced with those false words, Julia wondered?
*
Douglas entered the kitchen and found Homer on his knees, cleaning up the last of the broken dishes. “I’m almost done, m’lord.”
Douglas knelt beside him to assist him briefly in the chore. “I should have trusted your instincts, Mr. Barrow. You were right.”
“M’lord?”
“I’m speaking of Julia. I should have dealt honestly with her as you advised, but I’d formed an impression of her from those other reports. Well, it matters little now. I’m sorry I doubted you.”
Homer swept the last of the porcelain shards into the dustbin. “I’m glad ye’ve decided to take them both back to Eastbourne, m’lord. Funny how things worked out.”
Douglas nodded.
The vicar’s harsh letter had been the prompt he’d needed to make the proper decision. Men were arrogant wretches and Douglas counted himself among the worst, believing he could set a full purse on the table and take off with his nephew as though that would be the end of it, everyone satisfied.
But Julia loved Charlie and the boy loved her, had flourished under her care. Had Douglas not been so arrogant, so heartless, he would have recognized at once that the two could not be parted without fuss.
In truth, Douglas was beginning to like Julia. He admired her quiet charm and lack of pretense, but was she truly what she claimed to be? Honest and forthright?
He was used to women’s machinations, used to their schemes to gain his attention or his sympathy. His mother’s favorite ploy involved swoons and palpitations. Somehow, no matter how often
she swooned, she always seemed to land softly.
Julia had fallen straight backward, a dead weight slamming against the floor.
Lord! She’d given him a scare.
“Is the lass feeling any better?”
Douglas sighed. “She’s still dazed and that’s not good. Come into Charlie’s room when you’ve finished. I’ll need you to help with the boy while I tend to her.”
“I’ll be quick as a rabbit.”
Douglas prepared a cold compress and returned to Julia, relieved to find her struggling to sit up. Charlie was talking to her, apparently still anguished and blaming himself for her fall. “I told him never to play such a dirty trick on you again. He might have killed you!”
“No, love,” he heard Julia say. “My own clumsiness nearly did me in.”
“Oh, Uncle Douglas, you’re back.”
“And I see that Julia’s awake. How do you feel?”
“I’ve had better days. But I have the best doctor at my side.” She cast Charlie a sweet, open-hearted smile.
Damn. She truly loved the boy. How could he have been so blind to her feelings? “Stay in bed, you’ll be more comfortable.”
“I will, but I’d rather sit up,” she said with a wince.
“Very well. Here, let me place this compress on your forehead. I promise to be very gentle.” He set the cool cloth across her brow, his hand lingering a moment longer than necessary to secure it in place. “Any better?”
“Yes,” she said in a deliciously breathy moan, the word floating toward him on a gentle wave of gratitude, simple and serene. Suddenly, he felt a warmth fill his heart. He’d never felt wanted before. Never felt needed. Certainly not by his parents who had always considered him the “spare”, never thinking that his older brother would die at a young age.
“Good.” For the life of him, he couldn’t manage another word.