Chapter 14
“Real love is the love that sometimes arises after sensual pleasure: if it does, it is immortal; the other kind inevitably goes stale, for it lies in mere fantasy.”
Giacomo Casanova
Audrey savored the gentle kiss Julius pressed to her brow, her eyes closed, unwilling to relinquish the precious illusion that they still had time.
She had lain awake for an hour in the shelter of his embrace, her ear pressed to the steady thrum of his heart with only the thin linen of his shirt and the constraints of her gown between them.
She had not wasted a second. The loneliness would be sharp when it came.
But at least she had been granted this one perfect night alone together.
Her lashes fluttered as she opened her eyes. Julius was watching her, the early sunlight softening the angles of his face. His green-brown gaze held an unreadable depth, the quiet of morning casting a hush around them.
“Good morning,” he murmured.
Audrey’s heart ached. This, waking beside him in golden light, was what marriage might have been.
What the first morning of union would have been like.
A tender greeting at dawn, shared secrets in the hush of morning, the quiet certainty of partnership.
She swallowed around the ache blooming in her throat.
“Good morning.”
“Filminster and Abbott will be here soon.”
The spell was broken. Audrey sat up, drawing the linen sheet across her chest as though to shield herself from the weight of the real world. Her time with Julius, unreal and golden, was slipping away like mist.
“Yes,” she said quietly. “It is time to return.”
He rose from the bed, the light casting his tousled blond hair into a near halo, though there was nothing angelic in his gaze. She watched him stretch and turn toward the washstand before recalling her question.
“What of Patrick and Rose?”
Julius paused, glancing over his shoulder. “They are loyal. Fond of me in their quiet way. They will not breathe a word of our stay here. They saw you as my salvation, Audrey.”
Audrey released a breath she had not realized she had been holding. “That is a comfort.” But her voice was taut. The dread of returning to London society—or worse, to the gossip that would surely follow her to Stirling—curled in her stomach.
Julius turned fully then, his gaze steady, searching. “I will protect you, Audrey. Your reputation will not be left in tatters.”
She averted her eyes. “There is little to be done,” she said softly. “But … I do not regret any of it.”
His footsteps sounded against the floorboards, and then his fingers found her cheek, coaxing her to meet his gaze. She looked up, searching his face, hoping but not daring to believe.
“I have a plan,” he said. “To take care of you.”
He stopped. For a moment, Audrey saw something flicker in his expression, a flash of emotion he quickly tucked away. Her breath caught.
“I …” he began, then shook his head. “We shall discuss it soon. Do not trouble yourself about Lady Astley or any other society gorgon.”
But he stepped away before she could ask what he meant. The moment was gone. He crossed to the washstand, and she slipped from the bed in silence.
Back in her chamber, Audrey bathed and dressed, her fingers clumsy with fatigue and dread. The comfort of Julius’s arms was gone, and in its place was the pressing reality of what came next.
Despite his promise, she could not see how he might save her.
He was a lord, the heir to an ancient and influential title.
She was the daughter of a provincial physician, with neither dowry nor name.
He might care for her, might even believe himself willing to wed, but the ton would never see them as equals.
And Julius Trafford was not the marrying sort.
Audrey drew the comb through her hair, staring at her reflection, wondering how long it would take to forget the feel of his lips on hers.
Failing a wedding, Audrey was ruined beyond redemption.
Despite Julius’s assurances, she knew the precariousness of her position.
She clung to the fragile hope that the Earl of Stirling might yet support her efforts to build a future.
Perhaps, by some miracle, word might not reach her quiet village, and she could resume her life as a physician, untouched by scandal.
Flapper chirruped from his cage in the corner, the gentle warble tugging at her heart with unexpected force.
He had always sung at moments she needed comfort, as if sensing her melancholy.
She crossed the room and placed his cage upon the dressing table, her fingers trembling slightly as she unlatched the wire door.
She reached inside with great care, lifting the little starling and settling him in the curve of her palm.
His wing had healed, or so she hoped. With meticulous attention, she unwrapped the last of the bandages her father had taught her to make.
The wing unfolded with tentative grace beneath her touch.
Tears sprang to her eyes.
She returned him to the cage, where he gave a questioning chirp and fluffed his feathers. He was ready to fly. Just like the buck in the next chamber.
For the briefest moment, she considered keeping him. A small selfish part of her wished for a memento of these strange and glorious days. But then came her father’s voice in memory, calm and unwavering. The needs of the patient outweigh any other consideration.
She gave a watery smile. “I know, Papa,” she whispered, brushing away the tears with the back of her hand. “But who shall mend the physician’s heart? Is there no remedy for me?”
The question hung unanswered in the hush of the morning.
She pinned up her hair with care, tucking away stray curls, and dressed with quiet resolve.
Then, gathering the cage, she slipped from her room before she could change her mind.
She could not allow Flapper to become a prisoner to her sorrow.
She had not rescued him to break his spirit nor to make of him a symbol of loss.
The garden was hushed, dew still clinging to the grass, the hedges casting long shadows as the sun climbed over the rooftops. A perfect day for a bird to remember the sky.
Audrey set the cage down upon a weathered bench beside a clipped box hedge. She sat beside it, heart thudding, and reached inside. Flapper was trembling slightly as she cupped him once more.
“You will be all right,” she murmured. “You must be.”
She placed him on the cool grass, choosing the lawn rather than a higher perch to give him the safest start. He waddled forward with a few tentative chirps, blinking at the brightness of the world. He extended his wings, awkward and unsure, like a newborn lamb finding its feet for the first time.
Audrey held her breath, hands clasped tightly in her lap, watching the fragile miracle unfold.
Did he remember? Could he?
The bird cocked his head once, then again, bright eyes gleaming as he surveyed the garden. He turned toward Audrey, fixing her with a gaze that held her breath captive. For one suspended moment, she fancied he might return to her hand, choosing her over the sky.
But then his wings flared—strong, steady, free—and with a sudden burst, Flapper launched into the air. He climbed into the morning light, wheeling in a lopsided circle above the garden, and then vanished beyond the hedgerow, gone without a backward glance.
Audrey remained seated, staring after him long after he had disappeared from view. The tears that had lingered at the edges of her vision now spilled freely, trailing down her cheeks, across her jaw, and slipping into the collar of her gown. Each droplet was a benediction of sorrow, warm and quiet.
It was foolish, she supposed, to cry over a bird.
Yet his flight marked the close of something more than his convalescence.
It was the end of her own brief, impossible dream.
Her London adventure was over, and the fantasy that had played out within these borrowed walls must now give way to reality.
Soon, she would return to Stirling and the quiet house that held only memories.
It was but a short walk across the street, yet it felt an ocean’s distance away.
Her time with Julius—bright, wondrous, and fleeting—would become a secret chapter in her life. A memory of a single perfect night where he had simply held her in the dark. A night she would replay in her mind when the loneliness closed in.
And he had not meant to keep it.
Audrey bowed her head, resting her folded hands in her lap.
Her imagination painted an impossible future—days spent wandering the world beside him, evenings full of laughter and whispered confidences, a shared life filled with books, bold causes, warm beds.
Children with unruly golden-brown hair and bright curious minds, dressed in eccentric ensembles chosen by the most unpredictable of fathers.
Julius would make her smile when she wept and laugh when she was joyful.
And she would guard his heart, his health, and his hope for as long as he let her.
She let the vision slip away, pressing her lips together to stifle the sob that threatened.
One day, perhaps, some fortunate lady would tame the wild, brilliant spirit housed within Lord Trafford’s worldly form. Audrey only wished it might have been her.
Julius was still grappling with the shape of his proposal to Audrey when he reached the back door leading to the alley, where he intended to await his friends.
The coolness of the morning breeze seemed a poor match for the restlessness roiling in his chest. Audrey had been composed yet distant at breakfast, her smile brittle, her words careful.
She was clearly steeling herself for their return to Lord Stirling’s home, where disapproval and whispered judgment surely awaited.
He had opened his mouth twice that morning to broach the subject of marriage, but each time, the words failed him. The truth was, he still did not know what exactly he intended to offer her.