Chapter 28
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Present Day
St. Clair Shipyard
From where Kitty worked her figures on the Christmas reward, she heard the smart cadence of carriage horses and hurried to the window overlooking the road intersecting the Beach promenade.
Eleven days after she had lost eleven men, Julian stepped down from a black coach with four matching greys and a new suit of forest green that covered his honed body like a second skin. She smoothed her hands over her black bodice and rigid stays, mindful of her heart pattering in her throat.
His cocked hat wedged at his right side, Julian straightened his coat facing and cuffs and regarded the door before him. She watched as his mouth fell into a grim slant. Then his entire expression flattened.
He inhaled, a fortifying breath, the effort visible in his broad shoulders. He squinted into the autumn sun, and her knees weakened.
She knew the source of the quick cant of his head. Determination. He was unhappy to be here.
He strode into the building where she waited.
And all her doubts she had on Mr. Lovett’s account of her husband and the adventuress in Vauxhall and St. James Park were shattered the moment he walked through the office door.
He had left Southampton five weeks before with few words and an unflinching goodbye.
Now it was as if he had forced the very sun inside him.
Julian’s eager strides covered the room to where she stood frozen at the window.
“Kitty, it is good to see you again,” he said, his voice as warm and light as she was cold and heavy.
He smiled, as broad as the gash in her heart, laid open by the faint scent of perfume on his coat, something sensual and sweet. The adventuress had a scent.
Had she once thought to know he had been with another would be a relief? Had she believed that once Julian had replaced her she was going to feel better? She might retch on his new gentleman’s boots and die. Just die.
And if he had been so indiscreet as to fornicate with an adventuress in a secluded walk and a public park and not care to rid his clothes of the woman’s perfume, then of course his losses at the tables were true. True!
She hated herself for defending him, for loving him, for thinking she might die.
But there was nothing to do for it. She had pushed him into the arms of another woman.
She could not let on her regret or how deep her folly had cut.
She would be amicable, cheerful even, and as soon as possible, ascertain how much he had thrown away on gaming.
He had sent her another letter. Urgent business has detained me, he had written. She knew what urgency had detained him.
Her mouth refused to smile. Her hands clasped his and squeezed in an imitation of happiness. “Julian, how well and rested you appear. I trust your journey was uneventful?”
His dark eyes, which could still melt her heart, sparkled. “Uneventful as a puritan in a bawdy house. And you…” He stepped back, holding her arms wide. “You are the same. Lovely.”
She was not the same. In mere minutes, she had become something altogether false. “Are you hungry?” came her awkward reply.
“Famished.”
When had Julian ever used the word famished, or lovely for that matter?
Who was the woman who had put those words in his mouth?
Was he in love with the woman? How much of their money had he lost?
She could not chastise him when she reckoned the sum.
No good would come of abusing him like his father always had.
“How is your family?” she asked, withdrawing her cold hands from his, and his hands, she noted, left hers faster. He was nervous, wasn’t he?
“Oliver is recovering,” he said.
“I am glad to hear this. And your mother and father? Did you tell them of our marriage?”
“My mother is still a saint. And no, I did not.”
She did not ask why he kept their marriage a secret to his family. She was too relieved. “Perhaps, you should never tell them.”
He shrugged. “Perhaps.”
She looked at him, really looked at him, and had the sense that he wasn’t hiding.
What stood in front of her was the man he had become, and while she had been deluding herself that one day his love would return, she had lost him.
She had lost him before London, before the woman.
Had it been when he had taken her over the bed?
Had he fully realized then there was no pleasure to be had with her, even the basest pleasure?
She forced a brightness in her voice. “I let a house.”
“You did?” He frowned. “So soon?”
“Yes, I didn’t expect to find one so quickly.” She would not throw it in his face that he had been gone for five weeks when he had planned for three at the most. She explained the circumstances, and he grudgingly agreed she had done well in accepting Lady Pierpoint’s offer.
“I met with Gilbert,” he said.
“Did you?”
“Yes, and he had great hopes I would marry his daughter. Being the scoundrel I am, I was tempted not to rectify his error.”
“Of course you were. You told him you were married?”
“Happily,” he said with a wink.
“You are a scoundrel.” She was proud of her reply. “He is coming to see the yard?”
At his jaw, a muscle flexed. “No. Not at present.”
“But he will. It is a tactic of negotiation, to make you wait. And he will wait. No matter how much we need him, we won’t write to him. Do you have your receipts? I should like to record them.”
“Now?”
“If it pleases you.”
He cocked his head, appraising her for long moments, excused himself, and departed the office. When he returned with his portefeuille, a scruffy tan terrier with a black mask followed at his heels. He set the portefeuille on the desk and scooped up the dog.
“Ollie,” he said, “this is my lovely wife. You will refrain from eating her underclothes, do you hear? And Kitty, this is Ollie. Who is a female, by the by. A long story.”
Kitty eyed the dog back, charmed by its pert tail whipping back and forth. She shook Ollie’s paw and looked up at her husband. “How long of a story? I have time.”
“Well…” He inhaled. “I was walking home, and this little flea-bitten minx sidled up to me begging for a bath, food, and a drawer of hosiery to destroy. Her wishes were not in that order, but I obliged.”
“And you named her Ollie.”
His throat bobbed above his white cravat. “My brother approves, and so do my nieces. They spoiled her rotten.”
Kitty suspected there was more to the story, which was quite short.
He motioned to the portefeuille. “You’ll find all accounted for. Shall I sit and await your verdict or may I meet with Sam and our men?”
Kitty made light of his sarcasm. “Of course you should leave me. Everyone has missed you, though they didn’t dare say so to my face. Your presence is inspiring and your guidance always wise.”
“Ah, Katherine,” he said, cracking a one-sided grin, “you believe those words?”
She did without a doubt.
He left her to her figures. Methodically she sorted each expenditure between business and personal.
Julian had shown skill in negotiating the timber, tar, and canvas, but the volume was ten times over what they had agreed upon.
In his small notebook was an estimate for the production of six merchant brigs which explained the reason for the excess in purchases.
There were several drafts from Coutts & Co and receipts for the coach, horses, tailor, and various other craftsmen.
Four theater playbills. He had gone to the opera.
There had been a free exhibit at the British Museum.
He had noted expenses for Vauxhall and Ranelagh.
She froze at a bill of sale from a goldsmith at King's Arms, Panton Street. A royal goldsmith by the crown printed upon the paper. Diamond & Tourmaline Pendant of 24 c.
Her hand shook as she drew their personal account ledger near and penned the exorbitant outlay for the whore with the alluring perfume who had fornicated with her husband in a park. Such a horrible way to refer to a woman. But whore, whore, whore.
The pendant hurt so much more than when she totaled her columns and discovered over three thousand withdrawn from their accounts remained unreconciled. What had she said to Mr. Lovett? If a man loses in gaming according to his means, then why should we care? Her blind faith had come to haunt her.
She noted Julian’s losses in their personal account and after returning the ledgers to their place, filed the receipts and gathered her cloak.
She bent her forehead to the door and steadied her mind.
She prayed for wisdom. She wished Father Dunlevy were here to counsel her, clasp her cheeks as he had when she was a girl.
When her little boy had died in her arms.
Julian hadn’t troubled to conceal the purchase of the pendant or his losses. He could have easily forged other receipts to account for them. What of the opera, theater, and pleasure gardens? He wanted her to know. He wanted her to rail at him, just like his father.
She would not. Her husband was a man, not a boy. A man with free will, who had chosen to do what he had done. No one had shoved his face in a river and forced him.
Julian would have to come to terms with the fact she was not his father. His rebellion had not blunted her love. She would always love him because she knew him and accepted him. He would have to learn that what he did hurt him much more than it could ever her.
The yard seemed content, but to Julian’s experienced ears, it was too quiet, devoid of the merry back-and-forth of working men.
As he conferred with Sam on the cutters’ progress, he fought the urge to ask how the men had fared in his absence.
It would insult his wife and usurp her burgeoning authority.
Maybe the men’s somber demeanor was the outcome of a genteel woman as a leader. He wouldn’t tell Kitty this. It would smack of jealousy. His sole purpose was to support her, not chasten or belittle her.