Chapter 6 #2
Audrey rang the bell to order breakfast, reflecting with quiet contentment that it had been unexpectedly pleasant to share her hopes and ambitions with someone.
Julius had not scoffed or dismissed her aspirations, despite her being a woman and despite the unconventional nature of her plans.
He had, in fact, listened with something approaching respect.
He had obeyed her medical instructions without complaint.
And this morning, he had even acknowledged her role in his recovery.
Such grace from a gentleman of his standing was no small thing.
Since Papa’s death, she had not spoken freely of her dreams. In polite society, the very notion of a lady engaging in meaningful work, especially work so entwined with the physical body, was enough to cause a fainting spell.
Yet Julius had not batted an eye. Perhaps she had sensed he would not.
He had asked thoughtful questions, and his only resistance had been concern for her reputation, not his pride.
It was … nice.
For the first time since she had arrived in London, Audrey felt seen. For the first time since she had lost her father, she felt that someone had truly listened.
A lump rose in her throat at the memory of her late papa, seated in his old study with its worn books and warm hearth, discussing her future over steaming cups of tea.
The longing struck hard, a yearning for a time when everything had seemed possible, when her path forward had been clear and hopeful.
Grief had lingered like smoke over her months in London, and her inactivity had felt unbearable. She would never have recommended such idleness to a patient. But she had been biding her time, awaiting her inheritance, and remaining near the guild in hopes of a favorable ruling.
Perhaps she ought to inform Lord Stirling of her intentions formally. Perhaps Julius, or even the earl, might write a letter on her behalf, should she need to petition again.
She had not felt this glimmer of optimism in some time, and it was as though a breath of spring had crept in through the window. Julius’s recovery, her ability to aid him, and their unexpected conversation had buoyed her spirits in ways she had not anticipated.
She hummed quietly to herself as she tidied the tea tray and gathered the used cloths from the table near his bed. Her hands moved briskly, and her step was light with purpose. Julius, thankfully, remained peaceful in his doze.
Retrieving a fresh bandage and her jar of honey, she gently roused him and helped him to sit.
Once he was settled, she unwound the previous bandage and examined the sutured wound.
Satisfied with the healing progress, she cleaned the site with practiced care and applied a fresh dressing before easing him back onto the pillows.
Just then, Patrick and Rose arrived at the door. Both servants looked visibly pleased to see Julius awake. Audrey requested fresh sheets and their long-awaited breakfast.
As the door clicked softly shut behind them, she suddenly remembered, with a jolt, that she had yet to reclaim her gown and personal garments. She could hardly remain in borrowed clothing now that her patient was awake and lucid!
With haste, she crossed the room and flung open the door, hoping to catch Patrick or Rose before they disappeared down the servants’ stairs.
Instead, she stopped short at the sight before her. Patrick and Rose were embracing just outside the chamber. The discovery startled her, stealing the breath from her lungs.
The couple leapt apart, clearly nonplussed at having been discovered. Rose’s eyes glistened as if she had recently wept, and Audrey suddenly understood. Patrick had been offering her comfort.
An awkward silence stretched between them, all three of them shifting their gazes in different directions, each waiting for someone else to speak. After several ticking seconds, Audrey cleared her throat.
“Patrick, do you have my dry things?”
The servant swallowed hard, visibly relieved that she was choosing to overlook the moment.
“Aye, Miss Gideon. I shall collect them along with the sheets.”
“All right … Thank you.” She inclined her head, then hurried back into the chamber, shutting the door behind her with a soft but decisive click.
Julius was awake and watching her, his pillows arranged behind him to support his upright form, one arm casually thrown across the coverlet.
A broad grin split his face, and his shoulders trembled with contained amusement.
Audrey paused, startled by the transformation.
He looked altogether different now—alert, laughing, and undeniably handsome.
The ease of treating him had vanished with his delirium as she grew ever more aware of the impropriety of them being alone together.
She stiffened her spine, willing herself not to notice how at home he looked reclining there in rumpled linens, the morning light dancing along his cheekbones. The warmth rose unbidden in her neck as she remembered that she was still wearing borrowed garments, and that they were quite alone.
He found his voice at last, the laughter tugging at his words. “You are pondering the nature of Patrick and Rose’s relationship?”
Audrey blinked, momentarily thrown, then flailed her hands in an uncertain gesture, her palms pressing together in question. “Are they—”
“They have been married for at least twenty years.”
Audrey stared. “Oh … I thought servants in great households were prohibited from marrying?”
Julius chuckled aloud, his lean features illuminated like stained glass beneath sunlight. Audrey felt her breath catch. He was devastating in repose, and that smile … good heavens.
She pressed her lips together, focusing on his words. Yesterday, she had been absorbed entirely in the work of healing. Today, his presence was more difficult to ignore.
“Aunty Gertrude is a woman of tradition. It is a secret that they are married,” he said.
Audrey frowned. “So they married, yet live apart in the men’s and women’s quarters?”
“No, they have a room in the attic.”
She tilted her head, baffled. “So Aunty Gertrude knows about them?”
He shook his head, a smile playing about his mouth. “Aunty Gertrude is a traditional peeress who would never allow such a thing.”
“Then how …?”
He shrugged. “It is the way of high society. If no one acknowledges it, it is not true. Rose and Patrick enjoy their marriage, while Aunty Gertrude is willfully ignorant but ensures that they share a room. She is kind, after all, and would not stand in the way of love.”
Audrey groaned. “These rules make no sense!”
Julius grinned in agreement. “You might be a simple country lass from Stirling, but I believe, you begin to understand.”
“Heaven help me if that is the case! I do not wish to understand this nonsense.”
His levity faded like a candle snuffed. “I could not agree more. It tries one’s sanity to know how the ton thinks. Logic has little place in the beau monde.”
Audrey regretted the turn almost immediately.
She had enjoyed seeing him smile. But perhaps this was not the moment for levity.
She returned to the bedside and settled once more into the armchair, her expression quiet with thought.
She kept her gaze on his face, determined not to let her attention drift.
It was proving more difficult than she anticipated.
The distance she had maintained while he was ill—clinical, appropriate—was gone now.
And in its place was a disconcerting awareness of him as a man.
The older boy she had once admired from afar had grown into a compelling presence.
Seven years separated them, she guessed, which explained the gulf of their acquaintance.
Until now, their interactions had been little more than shared glances across long dinner tables or brief exchanges in drawing rooms. In the past twenty-four hours, they had spoken more than in the entirety of their shared history.
“While we wait for our breakfast,” she said, clearing her throat softly, “could you inform me of what this is all about? You mentioned a murder?”
Julius turned his head, gaze shifting to the window.
Audrey’s eyes followed the line of his profile, the aristocratic slope of his nose and the firmness of his chin—hallmarks of his lineage.
She took in the tousled curls that crowned his head and found herself once again wondering, not for the first time, why he had ever felt the need to powder or dye part of his hair.
“My chum, Brendan Ridley … his father was murdered a few weeks ago. On the night of the coronation.”
Audrey gasped. Her idle musings vanished, replaced by stunned concern. “I am so sorry.”
A flicker of a smile touched his lips, and he cast a glance her way before returning to the window. The morning sky beyond was crystalline, a few drifting clouds the only remnants of yesterday’s storm.
“Brendan was not close with the baron,” he continued.
“It was the accusation that troubled me. They were going to charge him with the crime. A young lady came forward to provide him an alibi, at great personal cost. They were forced to wed to preserve appearances, but the true killer remains at large. Since the wedding, hired men have been sent to search Brendan’s house for evidence.
The baroness was attacked during one such intrusion. ”
Audrey’s mouth parted in shock. He had said the assailant in the street was brazen, but now, the full weight of his warning took form. A baron murdered. A baroness assaulted.
“We found the evidence,” Julius said. “It was a letter the late baron had written to the Home Office. Most of it was ruined by spilled ink but what we could read led to a list of six suspects. Over the weeks, we narrowed that list to four.”
“What was the note I delivered?”