Thoughtless with joy, Abby rushed to embrace Julian. He had not been lying! He had spoken only the truth from the very beginning!
Without hesitation, he folded his arms around her and leaned his cheek against the top of her head. Feelings of warmth and safety streamed into Abby’s body, and something else besides; the sense of excitement she had felt that first day their hands touched so intimately. Was it happening again? That strange exchange of emotions? She relaxed her arms and lifted wondering eyes to his.
His face was alarmingly close. He gazed down at her, his expression registering equal wonder and a tenderness that snatched at Abby’s breath. He appeared reluctant to release her. But caution drifted into his features, and he stepped back a pace.
They became aware of Mr. Stone at the same time. He stood close to them, the child still clutched tightly to his chest. Relief and ecstasy were fading from his countenance, and a suspicious light was dawning in his eyes.
“How did you know he was in that trunk?” he demanded.
Abby bit her lip as she watched the lines of the magician’s face smooth into a mask.
“Your tone of voice puzzles me,” he said quietly. “I was only searching for him as you’ve been doing. It so happened I was more fortunate.”
“Just happened, eh?” Mr. Stone looked down at the child protectively. “We hunt all day and you find him in five minutes. Your good fortune seems unbelievable.”
Julian straightened. “What are you suggesting, sir?”
Mr. Stone’s eyes sparked, but after a brief staring match, his gaze fell before the magician’s. “Nothing at the moment. For now, I must inform the family and fetch a physician. But I’ll want words with you later, as will my father-in-law, I’m sure.”
He rushed from the room. Phoebe stared wide-eyed at Julian, then ran after Mr. Stone and her young master.
“What is wrong with that man?” Abby asked indignantly. “He should be grateful for your help.”
“People often don’t feel as we think they should,” he said.
Stirred by the lack of inflection in his voice, Abby instinctively moved toward him. She was dismayed when he flinched back, warning her away.
“Is that why you hesitated to help them?” she asked, saddened. “Because you knew this would happen?”
Francis appeared at the doorway. “Knew what would happen?” he asked grimly. “I see you found the child; I passed the gentleman on the stairs. Now that I’ve chased down a dog for you, are we about to be thrown out on our backsides?”
Julian smiled wearily. “I trust not. You may let the dog go now; it was to serve as my excuse for tracking the boy. Now I won’t need it; I’ve been found out. No one could have discovered the child so easily. The logical conclusion is that I put him in the trunk myself.”
“I tried to warn you, milord.”
“Yes, you did, Francis, but I never listen to anyone, do I? You have told me so often enough.”
“You’ll be lucky if they don’t hang you.”
“They most certainly will not!” Abby declared. “I shall tell them we are on our wedding trip!”
Julian’s smile became genuine. “Thank you, my dear. That should certainly stop them.”
My dear. Intoxicated with a rush of joy, Abby proclaimed, “If not, they will have to hang me as well, for I shall tell them I played a part in it. After all, it’s my fault you searched for him!”
Both men looked at her. The magician’s eyes gleamed brilliantly, and Francis’s stern face softened. She was so confused and pleased by their regard that for several seconds she forgot their dilemma entirely and dropped her gaze to the floor.
“They’ll have to hang me, too,” Charlotte Ann stated devoutly, though with less enthusiasm. “I aim to be counted on the side of the angels.”
Julian quickly hid his amusement. “How kind of you, Charlotte Ann, but I rather thought you, er—disapproved of my ability.”
“I did at first, thinking it was the devil’s doings,” the maid replied, her thin lips quivering with emotion. “But I been watching you over the past few days, and you don’t seem like a bad man to me. And after you found that little boy, I know you’re not bad. Satan don’t work against Satan, that’s what the good book says, and I believe it.”
Julian kissed the maid’s cheek, making her blush like a radish.
After retiring to their respective rooms to change clothes, the four travelers met for supper in one of the inn’s many private dining rooms. Julian had yielded to Francis’s plea that they dine together “in case there was trouble.” His prophecy seemed destined for fulfillment. They had not been eating long before a loud knock sounded at the door.
Abby began to tremble. Julian looked at Francis. The valet pushed himself back from the table and opened the door.
Mr. and Mrs. Chawston were admitted into the room, followed by Mr. Stone. Abby was relieved to see their expressions did not look at all threatening. Though Mr. Chawston appeared past tired, he beamed at all of them, introduced himself, and shook the magician’s hand.
“Had to tell you how grateful we are for your help in finding the boy,” he said. “Don’t know how you did it, but we can’t thank you enough.”
Abby relaxed and exchanged smiles with Julian. It appeared they would not hang after all.
“How is the child?” he asked.
“The physician says he’ll be fine,” Mrs. Chawston replied, “He’s suffering from exhaustion. The poor dear screamed and pushed against the trunk lid all day. He must have been asleep when the servants searched the attic, for Gordie has no memory of anyone entering and calling for him.”
“He is such an adventurous boy, and all heart,” Mr. Chawston added. “Had some idea he’d fetch a pair of shoes for his nurse, but when he got in the attic he found all sorts of things to play with. After he saw that trunk without a padlock, he opened it, saw it was empty and went in, thinking he’d found a new hiding place. Well, it turned out to be a fine hiding place indeed, since the hasp fell over the staple and he couldn’t jar it off. If there hadn’t been a few wormholes in the wood, the boy would have suffocated, or so the physician said.”
They all fell silent a moment, contemplating the tragedy that might have been.
“The results could have been the same had you not found him when you did,” Mrs. Chawston said. “He’s already suffering from thirst and lack of food. By tomorrow he might have been too weak to make any noise did anyone think to search the attics again. That is why we’re doubly thankful for your help.”
The elderly lady cast a demanding stare in her son-in-law’s direction, and Mr. Stone cleared his throat uncomfortably.
“I must offer my apologies,” he said. “I behaved offensively toward you, and I hope you’ll forgive me. It did seem unusual, your finding him so quickly.”
His expression indicated that he still found it unusual and did not entirely trust Julian yet, but the magician chose to accept the spirit of his words. “Yes, I was very, very fortunate. I remembered how fascinated I was with attics as a child and thought it a likely place for him to hide.”
“Well, we’re happy you did,” Mr. Chawston said, then harrumphed and wiped his nose with his handkerchief. “And now, if you don’t think it’s out of order, I’d like to offer you a gift to show our thanks.”
“Oh, no,” Julian said quickly. “I never—that is, thank you, but I cannot accept anything.”
Mr. Chawston glared triumphantly at his son-in-law. “ ‘Tis as I suspected. When my wife told me you were the son of Lord Donberry, I immediately thought that no spawn of his would be looking for a reward. Or need to. Don’t be offended at my offering, though. There’s some,”—his eyes rolled again in Mr. Stone’s direction—, “that thought you’d jump at it, but I was sure the marquess hadn’t raised any bounders.”
Julian’s eyes grew cool. “You know my father?”
“I should think so. Years ago, he owned an interest in my factory before I bought him out. Didn’t get t
o see him personally all that often, but had the best of dealings with him. He was a forward-thinking man and a shrewd investor. A force to contend with, I’d say.”
The old man’s face clouded, and he looked from Julian to Abby and back again. “I must admit I was a bit surprised to hear from the innkeeper that you’re on your wedding trip so soon after your sire’s death.”
A sudden, taut silence blanketed the room. The magician picked up his fork and set it down again.
“Did I understand you correctly? Did you say my father is dead?”
Shock lengthened the old man’s face. “Oh, my dear fellow, didn’t you know? I wouldn’t have been the one to break it to you for the world! But then, you’ve been traveling and perhaps they couldn’t get word to you. It happened about—oh, ten days ago, I would guess, wouldn’t you, Nancy?—heart seizure, I believe it was. ‘Twas in the newspapers. But there, I’ve thoroughly upset you after all you’ve done for us—here, here, let us leave you alone.”
Muttering embarrassed words of sympathy, the visitors hurried from the chamber, leaving a thunderous silence behind them.
Julian looked ill; his face, even his eyes, had faded to a muddy color. Abby, frantically searching the corners of her brain for soothing words but finding none, reached out tentatively and placed her hand over his. Equally speechless, Francis watched him while Charlotte Ann covered her face with an edge of the tablecloth.
The magician looked uncomprehendingly at Abby’s hand, then twitched his lips into a brief smile.
“Please excuse me,” he said, and walked quietly from the room.
Chapter 9
Abby watched the door close behind him with blurring eyes. The bowls of clear soup sitting on the table, the plates of half-eaten turbot and glazed carrots—all so appetizing a few moments ago—now seemed noxious. She sprang to her feet and moved to the door.
“He needs to be alone,” Francis said, not unkindly.
Abby hesitated. Julian’s servant knew him better than she did. But she understood the unwelcome loss of one’s parents, and perhaps Francis did not. “That may be so, but I wish to at least make the offer of my sympathy.”
The valet made no answer to this, and she continued on her way. After viewing the public rooms and the courtyard, she knocked at Julian’s bedroom door, then searched the terrace at the back of the inn. She was standing in the darkness wondering what to do next when she heard her name spoken softly. Abby looked around but saw no one.
“I’m up here,” Julian called from his bedroom balcony. “You should come inside. They have failed to light the lanterns tonight, and it’s not safe there.”
“I’m coming up,” she said, and set her chin stubbornly when he protested. This time when she knocked at his door, she heard slow footsteps and the lock being pulled. She felt a mixture of dread and sorrow when she saw his face. His demeanor was not forbidding, but neither was it welcoming.
“Please, may I come in?”
“I’d rather you wouldn’t.”
She forced a twinkle into her eyes. “You’re not afraid people will talk, are you? You are my husband now; it’s not improper for me to join you on your balcony, is it?”
“No, I suppose not,” he said wearily, and stepped aside.
She walked past him, saw no answering smile or twinkle in his expression, and tried not to cringe at her own boldness. What, after all, did she expect? He had only moments ago learned of the loss of his father. And no matter how long-separated they were, no matter how estranged, that loss must be devastating.
The lamps were not lit in his room, and she traced her way carefully among chairs, tables, and the bed to a pair of glass doors that led to the balcony. Glancing over her shoulder to make certain he followed, she walked outside and clutched the wooden rail, hoping to gather strength from it.
The night air brought sharp scents from the fields that surrounded the hostelry. The sky was exceptionally clear, and countless stars blinked around a crescent moon. It was easy to imagine she stood on the edge of the world, that the balcony was a captain’s perch, and the railing beneath her fingers the pilot’s wheel. A brief wave of dizziness strengthened the illusion, and she shook her head to dismiss the fantasy.
“I don’t mean to intrude if you would truly rather be alone,” she said hesitantly. “I’ve come to offer my condolences and will leave now if you wish.” When he said nothing, she added, “I’m remembering my own parents’ deaths, you see. I recall wanting to be alone, too, but certain of my friends wouldn’t allow that. After awhile, I lost my resentment of them and came to appreciate how much their support meant to me.”
“No one could resent you, Abby,” he said gently.
Her eyes began to fill. Even now, even when his heart must be breaking, he had compassion for her feelings. “I am so sorry,” she said, her throat thickening. “Hearing about your father this way must be terribly difficult.”
He put an arm around her waist and leaned his other hand on the rail. Who is comforting whom? Abby thought helplessly.
“Do you know, it is difficult,” he said. “I am surprised at how badly I’m feeling. I suppose it’s strange. I’ve not set eyes on my father for some ten years. There has been no correspondence between us. It’s not as though I’ll miss him as I would someone more familiar to me. And yet …”
“He was your father,” she finished simply.
“He was my father,” he agreed. “And I suppose I’ve always hoped we’d reconcile some day. That can never happen now. It closes a chapter in my life I’d have preferred to have ended differently.”
Before she could stop herself, she asked, “Why did you leave all those years ago?” In mortification she added quickly, “I’m sorry. It’s sounds as though I’m prying.” He remained embarrassingly silent. “It’s only that—well … I have begun to know you a little, and, despite our disagreements, I believe you are a kind man. I can’t imagine you having an enormous argument and leaving in a fit of anger, never to return, never to forgive.”
He tilted his head, considering her with an oddly blank expression. “And yet that is exactly what happened. I am not so kind as you think.”
A brief shudder ran through her body. His words were spoken ominously, as if some other Julian lurked behind his eyes. The fear dissipated almost immediately. She knew gentleness and consideration when she felt it, simply because she had lived so long with its lack. He was not Philip.
“I don’t believe it,” she said, and heard herself with surprise. A few days ago, she thought him capable of the darkest of deeds. But all that had changed now.
“You should.” He removed his arm from her waist and leaned both hands against the rail, making her feel absurdly abandoned. “There are things about me that would surprise someone of your delicate sensibilities. Sometimes I surprise myself. I have been known to be cruel.”
He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. A night bird sang sadly from the bushes beneath them. Abby never looked away from Julian’s face, but he would not meet her eyes.
“Perhaps it comes from being my father’s son. The Donberrys have been aristocrats for centuries; long enough to force their arrogance and pride on generations of their supposed inferiors. Combined with my Gypsy side, it makes for an unpleasant mix.”
She would not allow him to disparage himself. “You are speaking nonsense,” she refuted.
He chuckled humorlessly. “Am I? My brothers didn’t think so. Especially when I carried tales about them to my father. They would no sooner plan some boyish mischief before I would spoil it by telling what they meant to do.”
“You were much younger than they. You probably felt left out of things.”
“I did, but it took years for me to learn to keep out of their way. Father didn’t appreciate my tale-carrying, anyhow. He felt it to be a sign of weakness. He thought I was finding my information by spying on my brothers, which disgusted him further.” He hesitated. “You must forgive me, Abby. I am remembering all sorts of things toni
ght. It is as though I’ve become a child again.”
If it were possible for her expression to grow more sympathetic, it did. After a moment of quietness, she said, “You have told me he ignored your gift. Perhaps he was secretly frightened of it.”
“He never admitted it was genuine. I think the Gypsy element shamed him, especially after my mother died. Carl often told me Father was a different man while she lived. But as the pain of losing her lessened, I think the stigma of her being a Gypsy grew. Especially when he saw me daily in her place. I represented not only all he’d lost, but was the breathing result of what he considered an old man’s folly.”
Abby felt no surprise at the marquess’s class-consciousness; England was a carefully leveled society. But it made her furious that he blamed his son.
“Understand that he never spoke these feelings,” Julian added. “It was something I sensed.” He paused, but after a moment he pressed on, as if needing to tell someone, anyone willing to listen.
“I was able to learn a valuable lesson from his lack of understanding. When I was about nine or ten years old, one of our hunters was found dead in the stables. The dog had been mutilated. Tortured. It was not the only time an animal had been discovered thus on our property, but it was the first domestic one so treated. I touched the dog shortly after its death and had an overwhelming sense of Michael. When I told my father, he became furious and demanded proof. He ordered me to my bedroom until I could offer some evidence, which of course I could not do. It was not until a week later that Carl prevailed upon him to rescind his punishment. After that, I learned to keep quiet. In every incident save one.”
Abby, whose breathing had quickened sympathetically at the long-ago plight of a misunderstood boy, whispered, “What incident was that?”
He straightened, leaned his back against the rail and crossed his arms. After giving her the swiftest of glances, he rested his gaze on the glass doors, or the dark room beyond them. “It was the event which precipitated my leaving home. But I’m not sure whether I should tell you. It’s not a pretty story.”
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