Chapter One #2
The change in tack surprised him, and Julian propped himself up on his elbow as he dwelt on her question.
His mother had spent the last eight weeks caring for an elderly relative over in Dumfries, but last week she had written to say Aunt Caroline had died, and she would be returning shortly.
As much as he yearned to see his mother again, it was an undeniable fact that the free rein he had enjoyed with Romola would come to end.
Or, at least, their relationship would need to change.
If nothing else, his mother demanded propriety, and bouncing around, laughing through, and exploring Fife without a chaperone had gone on long enough.
Julian knew what he needed to do, and it might be a long engagement, since he would need to wait until he was twenty-one, but he would wait a lot longer than four years for Romola if need be.
“I shall miss you come September,” Romola said, her fierce brown eyes fixed on him, in a way that made Julian feel bold, “when you return to your school.”
“Will you write to me?” It might not be done, or considered proper, to exchange missives, but if they were engaged then surely, surely the rules of Society could be bent a little?
He shifted closer on the loch’s outcrop, closing the distance between the two of them.
Slowly, giving her time to pull away, he lifted his hand up to cup her face, to hold her dear cheek under his touch.
To stroke at the delicacy of her vibrant skin and watch in clear proximity the fragility of her long lashes. “You know I shall miss you, Romola.”
Only an inch burned between them, and as Julian leaned in to close the distance, to finally kiss her, there came the screeching of wheels, and the pounding of horses’ hooves, as a carriage drew nearer.
Hastily Julian dropped his hands from Romola’s face as he watched his mother’s carriage draw to a stop ten yards away from where they were positioned.
As the carriage door opened, Julian scrambled to his feet, helping Romola to hers.
This was not how he had imagined introducing Romola to his mother, but needs must.
His mother’s pale face was pinched and outraged as she looked between the two of them. “Get away from him.” Her eyes flinched as she saw their interlocked hands. “She is a Campbell.”
There had been some expectation within Julian that there might be a problem with Romola. Perhaps she would have no dowry. Perhaps she could be a vicar’s daughter, or a tradesman’s, but that did not matter a jot to Julian. Yet knowing she was a Campbell…
He dropped her hand and turned to look at Romola.
“You are a McGregor,” she whispered, “and my father warned me about the animosity that…” She looked uncertainly at Lady McGregor. With a louder voice, she continued, looking at Julian’s mother, “Lady McGregor, my father—His Grace has many enemies, but I do not.”
Julian felt stunned. He had been told repeatedly to hate anyone with her connections and lineage, but all he saw was a young woman watching him with tears filling her eyes. Her lip wobbled, and all Julian wanted to do was throw his arms around her and tell her he would make it better.
“Bryson, Smythe,” his mother ordered the groomsmen, who moved forward and pulled Julian away and up into the vehicle.
He was stuffed unceremoniously inside the carriage despite his protests, and once he’d righted himself, it was to find the vehicle was already moving.
He scrambled to the window and caught just a flash of Romola as she vanished from sight.
“What the hell are you doing?” he swore at his mother, who slapped him hard across the face. He forced himself off the floor of the carriage and onto the seat opposite his mother. This was not how he had envisioned this conversation, but he was honorable, and he owed Romola an offer.
“She is the baseborn—A bastard of that hated duke.” His mother was shaking, her fury coloring her red, and she sank back into the squab seat, making herself calmer.
“She is the natural daughter of Duke of Angus, and this is what I come back to? To hear you have been cavorting across Fife with that little slut. Her mother was a whore who seduced a married noble when she was in his employ. She is infamous. Oh, Julian, how could you?”
“I mean to marry Romola.”
His mother froze and her eyes narrowed. “Did she ever tell you who she was?”
Julian had to drop his gaze, unable to face the question.
Romola had never said a word, and, coward that he was, he had never asked her.
He hadn’t wanted to know the truth, hadn’t wanted to know anything that might spoil their interactions, or the fact that he was falling in love with her.
But it seemed that she had known his lineage throughout it all, and perhaps she had found it amusing to know and snigger at his ignorance.
“She is a liar, the daughter of a coward and a trickster. Of course she told you falsehoods. She set out to play you. Perhaps she even laughed about it,” his mother said, her voice a lulling promise. “You will forget her, I promise you. I will make sure of it.”