Passion Becomes Her

by Shirlee Busbee

  She swallowed. After their first explosion of relief and joy, her father and Thalia would want to know how she had gotten the letters. She could never tell them or anyone else, she realized uneasily, how the letters came to be miraculously in her hands. In the end she decided it didn’t matter. Her father and Thalia would be so overjoyed that they wouldn’t press her for explanations. Which left only the problem of Ormsby himself…

  Juliana wouldn’t have been human if the idea of a confrontation with the powerful and intimidating Marquis of Ormsby didn’t give her pause. Ormsby would not be happy to have had his prey snatched right from his very mouth. She smiled without humor. Quite frankly, she didn’t give a damn about Ormsby’s happiness or lack thereof, but she wondered what the best approach would be. Inform him that they had the letters? Or simply ignore him and proceed with their lives and let him discover for himself why his threats no longer held any power over them?

  She made a face. Ultimately, how Ormsby was handled would be up to her father; although he would listen to her ideas, he would make the final decision, so she wasted no more time on speculation.

  The golden light of dawn was filling her room, chasing away the shadows, and for a moment Juliana stood there uncertain of her next move. Telling her father and Thalia was paramount but she didn’t want to arouse the curiosity of the staff by acting out of the ordinary. She hadn’t forgotten about Ormsby’s spy in her father’s stables and though it would take a while for the servant’s grapevine to carry the news of unusual doings in the master’s house this morning, Willie Dockery would learn of it before the sun was very high in the sky. Once Willie knew that there had been some odd goings on just after dawn in the Kirkwood household, it would be only a matter of hours before Ormsby was informed. Ormsby might not realize the significance, but Juliana wasn’t going to take any chances.

  The rattle of the tea tray and the opening of her bedroom door jerked her thoughts to the present. Instinctively she lunged for the bed and stuffed the letters under her pillow.

  Finding her mistress already up and standing by the side of the bed, the young housemaid said, “Oh, Mrs. Greeley, I didn’t expect you to be already awake this morning. Is everything all right?”

  Juliana smiled and, sitting down on the edge of bed, her fingers resting protectively on the pillow, she said airily, “Everything is fine, Flora. It is such a glorious morning that I found myself unable to resist rising early.”

  Setting down the laden tray on a nearby table, Flora smiled. “Indeed it is!” Smiling at Juliana as she prepared to leave, she asked, “Shall I see to it that water for your bath is put on to heat?”

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  After Flora left the room, Juliana helped herself to a cup of tea and nibbled on a small piece of toast, her gaze fixed on the pillow that hid the letters. She wasn’t going to rest easy until they were destroyed, but it seemed that she would have to wait a few hours for that pleasure. And find a better place to hide them for the time being.

  She had never been a secretive person and it took her several minutes before she shoved them far under her mattress. Not very imaginative, she thought sourly, but unlikely to be discovered accidentally by one of the servants during the short time they would have to remain there.

  The intervening time dragged by interminably for Juliana, but finally, she was bathed and dressed and the hour was late enough that her father and Thalia should be awake and ready to face the day.

  Feeling a trifle ridiculous, Juliana retrieved the letters and, folding them carefully, shoved them between her breasts. The lavender-sprigged muslin gown she was wearing had a modest neckline trimmed with lace and after checking her appearance in the cheval glass and making certain that no sign of the letters was discernable, she left the room.

  Thalia was still confined to the sick room, and knowing that her father usually stopped in to visit with his youngest daughter before breakfast, Juliana hurried down the hall, hoping she had timed her arrival perfectly.

  She had. Entering Thalia’s room, she found her sister wearing a simple pale blue muslin gown sitting in a chair near the window that overlooked the back gardens, Mr. Kirkwood occupying the other chair. The scattered remains of the tea tray were spread across the small table between them and both looked up when Juliana entered.

  Forcing a smile, Mr. Kirkwood rose to his feet and said, “Good morning, my dear. I trust you slept well. Would you care for a cup of tea? I believe that we have left enough for you.”

  Juliana shook her head, casting a quick glance over both of them. While her color looked better this morning and the spots were becoming even less noticeable, the purple smudges under Thalia’s lovely blue eyes bespoke a restless night. Mr. Kirkwood looked little better. There were worn lines down his cheeks and around his eyes that had not been there previously and he had the appearance of man who had not slept well either. The strain of these past terrible days had taken a toll on all of them. They had all been trying to maintain a facade of normality, but Juliana knew how fragile it was. And that it was no longer necessary.

  Unable to suppress her news a second longer, Juliana reached into the neck of her gown and withdrew the letters. Placing them on the table before Thalia, she said, “I want you to make certain, but I believe that these are the letters you wrote to Ormsby.”

  Thalia gasped and stared at the folded papers as if Juliana had placed a viper on the table. Mr. Kirkwood started and looked at his eldest daughter incredulously.

  “Thalia’s letters?” he croaked, his gaze moving from the papers to Juliana’s face and back again. “But how? Never say that Ormsby has had a change of heart that he gave them to you?”

  Juliana waved his questions aside and, putting a hand on Thalia’s shoulder, said softly, “Look at them. Are they yours?” She already knew the answer but she wanted Thalia to confirm it.

  Her fingers visibly shaking, Thalia picked up the small pile and rummaged through it. Astonishment flooding her face, she looked at Juliana and exclaimed, “Oh, yes! These are my foolish, foolish letters! But how did this happen? How did you get them from Ormsby?”

  “That doesn’t matter. All that matters,” said Juliana firmly, “is that Ormsby no longer has any power over us. Or won’t once these are destroyed.”

  Under the bemused gaze of Thalia and Mr. Kirkwood, Juliana twitched the letters from Thalia’s nerveless fingers and marched to the fireplace in the corner and reached for the flint that lay on the gray marble mantel. Realizing what she was about to do, Thalia and Mr. Kirkwood rushed over to watch as she lit the letters on fire.

  Together the three of them stared enthralled as the tiny flame grew and spread over the letters. Shoulder-to-shoulder they huddled around the front of the hearth, watching silently as the paper blackened and curled beneath the onslaught of the flickering orange and yellow flame. There was a collective sigh of relief when all that remained was a tiny heap of ash.

  Turning grateful eyes on Juliana, Thalia clasped her hands together against her breast and cried, “You have saved me! Oh, Juliana, do you realize what this means? Now I can marry my beloved Piers!” She glanced at her father, saying in a trembling voice, “And, Papa, you will not be ashamed of me or so angry with me anymore?”

  Mr. Kirkwood tenderly folded his youngest daughter into an embrace. “I might have been a little angry in the beginning, but I was never ashamed of you.” He kissed her on the forehead. “Any anger you sensed was at my own helplessness to rescue you.” A teasing glint in his eyes, he added, “How could I stay angry for very long with someone so lovely—even with spots?”

  Thalia gave a watery chuckle and glanced at Juliana, standing nearby beaming besottedly at them. Leaving her father’s embrace, Thalia hugged Juliana and pressed a kiss on her cheek. “You are a true heroine!” Thalia exclaimed.

  Her smile full of love, Juliana looked from one to the other. “Believe me, I am no heroine. I am merely a sister and a daughter, who could not bear for that awful man to cause such pai
n to those I love.” Her voice hardened. “And I cannot wait to see the expression on Ormsby’s face when he discovers that the Kirkwoods have outfoxed him.”

  Mr. Kirkwood laughed and, swinging Juliana into his arms, danced her wildly around the room. “I don’t know how you did it, my dear, but by God, this is a miracle! Thalia’s right—you are a heroine!”

  Juliana would have none of it. “Indeed I am not. I was just…lucky,” she finished lamely, uncomfortable with taking credit for something she had not done, uncomfortable because she could say nothing of Asher—Asher who was the real hero, Asher who risked his reputation, his life to save Thalia. Remorse filled her. He had rescued Thalia and she had thanked him by sending him away with a slap in the face. Her joy vanished as if it had never been and, guilt eating at her, she stared down at her silk slippers, remembering that angry scene in the library, the horrible words she had thrown at him. Misery swept over her. She was an ungrateful wretch. Just as bad, she’d said she’d marry him and then she’d taken it back. So she was a liar, too. And don’t forget a strumpet, she reminded herself bitterly, the memory of their urgent coupling flashing through her. Thalia and her father thought her a heroine, but she was nothing more than an ungrateful, lying strumpet!

  It was difficult to keep smiling and pretending she was the happiest creature alive when inside she was consumed with guilt and remorse, but she must have fooled the others because no one commented on her actions.

  As their first shock and euphoria faded, Mr. Kirkwood and Thalia were eager to learn how she had recovered the letters. Though still heaping praise on her for being Thalia’s savoir, they pestered her repeatedly to tell how she had gotten the letters. Unable to tell the truth, Juliana could only shake her head and brush aside their questions. Incapable of bearing either their misplaced gratefulness or their questions any longer, eventually she said, “It doesn’t matter how they came to be in my hands, all that matters is that we have destroyed them and Ormsby cannot hold Thalia’s innocent indiscretion over her head any longer.” Painfully aware that it was Asher who should have been the recipient of all this delight and gratitude, she said almost desperately, “I beg you let it be! We have other more important matters before us…such as letting Ormsby know that he has no control over us anymore.”

  Thalia was perfectly happy to drop the subject of how her letters had been retrieved, but Mr. Kirkwood hesitated, his eyes fixed intently on his eldest daughter’s face. “Because of this…are you in jeopardy?” he asked softly. “Have you sacrificed yourself to save your sister?”

  Juliana was able to smile naturally and say, “No, Papa, I am not in jeopardy and I did not sacrifice myself.”

  He wasn’t quite satisfied, but he was willing to let it drop, especially since Juliana had raised a valid point: Ormsby still had to be faced down. Leaving the subject of the return of the letters, the trio began to speculate on the best way to let Ormsby know that he no longer had the power to enforce his demand that Thalia marry him.

  Mr. Kirkwood ended the discussion by saying firmly, “Leave it to me, my dears. I shall invite him to call this afternoon and explain matters to him.” He smiled grimly. “I shall take enormous pleasure in giving him that information and ordering him from our home. Enormous pleasure.”

  “Yes, but there is one other thing you need to do,” Juliana said quietly. When her father looked at her, she said, “Ormsby placed a spy in our midst. Willie Dockery is his tool. As soon as you have spoken to Ormsby you need to send Dockery packing.”

  Mr. Kirkwood was aghast at the news, but after a long thoughtful moment, he took it in stride. “I shall look forward to that task, too.”

  Leaving Thalia happily planning the letter she would write to Piers, Juliana followed Mr. Kirkwood from the room. In the hallway, she touched her father’s arm and asked, “Are you certain you want to see Ormsby alone? I would not mind being at your side.”

  He glanced down at her, his face full of tenderness. “Yes, I am quite certain that I can handle this alone. As your father, it is my duty to protect you and your sister and I have not done a very good job of it so far, have I?” When Juliana would have protested, he laid a silencing finger against her lips and continued, “I am ashamed that I allowed that monster to intimidate and terrify all of us. I should have challenged him the moment he leveled threats against Thalia instead of acting so craven and hiding myself away, hoping for a miracle—a miracle that you, not I, provided.” His gaze inward, he said slowly, “If it had not been for your actions in retrieving Thalia’s letters…I do not even want to think of how differently this may have turned out.” He smiled sadly. “You have been the brave one, the gallant one during this entire ordeal. Won’t you please allow me to regain some semblance of manhood by confronting Ormsby myself?”

  Put that way, Juliana had no choice but to agree. Her eyes followed him as Mr. Kirkwood walked down the stairs, noting the determined air about him, the firmness of his tread upon the steps. Her father wasn’t like Asher but he was a good man, a caring, kind father, and she knew that he had blamed himself for the dreadful state of affairs Thalia’s letters had caused, but she hadn’t realized until now how much his lack of action shamed him. A faint smile curved her mouth. Sending Ormsby away with a flea in his ear would be just the thing to cheer her father up.

  Deciding how to spend the day that stretched in front of him occupied Asher for only a few minutes. The hour was still early, but he knew that his grandmother would be up. A ride to Burnham and the casual mention of a trip to London tomorrow would make the trip seem less spur-of-the-moment. After visiting with his grandmother, he would ride over to Apple Hill and mention the trip there, too, but it would also give him a chance to learn how the evening with Ormsby had gone. He grinned. After that, why he rather thought a visit to Kirkwood would round out the day nicely, but since he could hardly just drop in at Kirkwood, he composed a brief message and requested that Hannum see that it was delivered as soon as was polite this morning.

  He glanced down at his jacket, breeches and boots. A bath and a change of clothes were definitely in order.

  It was still early when Asher arrived at Burnham and Dudley showed him into the breakfast room. Looking handsome and dapper in a dark blue jacket and dove gray pantaloons, his cravat neatly tied, his Hessian boots glistening, he joined Mrs. Manley in a cup of coffee while he laid out his plans to go to London. His grandmother expressed no surprise when he mentioned that he would be leaving for London tomorrow—her interest lay in his return. With Apollo snoozing in her lap, having shared several pieces of bacon with his indulgent mistress, Mrs. Manley fixed her eyes on her grandson and asked, “But you will be back in time to meet my friend Barbara?”

  Looking as innocent as he could, Asher exclaimed, “Oh, absolutely! You have my word.” And that put paid to any idea that might have crossed his mind about hiding out until after Mrs. Sherbrook and her son had departed.

  Her fingers lightly playing with Apollo’s silky ears, Mrs. Manley looked at him, and Asher barely prevented himself from squirming like a naughty child caught telling tales. “Very well, then,” she said lightly, “I shall expect to see you upon your return.”

  Escaping from the far-too-penetrating gaze of his grandmother, Asher rode to Apple Hill. Upon arriving at the house, Woodall, after a warm greeting, informed Asher that the colonel was still abed, but that John could be found a few miles down the road, inspecting the hop fields.

  Asher found his half brother with no problem, the hop fields—with their neat rows of tall poles and artistically strung twine poking up oddly after the grassy rolling hills and the apple and cherry orchards he’d ridden past—were obvious. Pulling his horse to a halt, he dismounted and tied the animal to an old apple tree that had been left when John had torn out the orchard and began experimenting with growing hops.

  From where he had been conversing with one of his workers, John spied him when Asher had ridden up. With a smile on his handsome face John joined him in the shade of t
he apple tree.

  Asher looked at the towering vines and raised a brow. “Hops?”

  John laughed. “Yes, hops. There is an increasing demand for them from the breweries and though they are finicky to grow and require a great deal of labor, I earn more than enough money from the crop to make it worth all the trouble.” He clapped his brother on the shoulder. “Besides, weren’t you the one who said I should not put all my eggs in one basket?”

  “So this is all my fault?” Asher asked, indicating the acres and acres of towering, brilliant green vines.

  John shook his head. “No. But your lecture on having more than one iron in the fire made me think that having all of my most productive lands in orchards might not be wise. Apple Hill is no longer simply orchards—I have dairy cattle, sheep and hops as well as the apples and cherries.” He grinned at Asher. “Far more than just one iron in the fire.”

  The two brothers chatted idly for several minutes, during which Asher threw out that he would be going to London tomorrow for a few days and eventually worked the conversation around to Ormsby’s visit last night to Apple Hill.

  John made a face at the introduction of Ormsby’s name. Rubbing his chin, his eyes on the rows of climbing hop vines, he said, “You know, I simply do not like the man—he is too arrogant for my taste. Carries his consequence around with him like a bloody second skin—I don’t see why father finds his company so agreeable.”

  “I don’t think it’s the marquis’s company that your father finds so agreeable, so much as the fact that Ormsby is a known gambler and has deep pockets.”

  “I can’t disagree—after dinner, utterly ignoring me I might add, they immediately retired to father’s study and began to play piquet. I was polite and watched them play several hands, but since cards don’t interest me and it was clear neither would give up his seat for me to play a hand or two, I soon bid them good night and left them to it.”