Chapter 17
“By recollecting the pleasures I have had formerly, I renew them, I enjoy them a second time, while I laugh at the remembrance of troubles now past, and which I no longer feel.”
Giacomo Casanova
Brendan’s guards escorted Julius to the front door, waiting for him to enter before departing. As the heavy door shut behind him, he paused, sensing something was different. There was a new energy in the air—charged, unsettled. His eyes landed on a pile of trunks stacked neatly in the hall.
A vibration of tension rippled through him, and he exhaled sharply, as if breath alone could banish it. He strode down the corridor, his gaze narrowing as he reached the open door to his father’s study.
Julius groaned under his breath, berating himself for the flutter of unease in his chest.
Lord Snarling was back.
Rolling his shoulders, he stepped into the doorway.
“What is the meaning of this, Julius!” the earl barked, standing rigid beside the fireplace, a sheet of paper crumpled in his grip. His scowl was formidable, his voice brimming with accusation.
Another letter, no doubt. Likely from that venomous Lady Astley. Julius should have anticipated a second missive and made a sweep through the study to destroy it. But he had been … well, distracted.
“It is a letter,” Julius replied, the corner of his mouth lifting in deliberate defiance. “As to its meaning … that, I imagine, is subjective.”
Lord Snarling’s face hardened. “You ruined Miss Gideon?”
Julius tensed, though he had braced for precisely that charge. “Ruined,” he echoed, “is such a … nebulous term, is it not?”
The earl’s jaw worked. “Did you or did you not disappear with Audrey Gideon for over a week, when a narrow-minded chaperon with a fondness for gossip was meant to collect her?”
Julius met his father’s furious gaze. How, precisely, was he to explain the improbable series of events that had compromised Audrey’s reputation beyond repair? Or that they were now engaged to be married?
“There were mitigating factors,” he offered finally, his usual arsenal of quips proving uncharacteristically barren.
“What could possibly justify this?” The earl shook the letter in the air, the crinkle of paper as sharp as his tone.
Julius opened his mouth and closed it again. For once, he understood his father’s fury. They both cared for Audrey. Perhaps, in his own way, the old man was simply trying to protect her too.
“She accompanied me in a bid to save my life,” Julius said at last, his voice quieter. “My … circulation was compromised at the time.”
The earl dropped his arm, the letter sagging in his hand. His scowl shifted to a puzzled frown. And then, astonishingly, his gaze moved to the doorway behind Julius, and his entire face transformed.
He smiled.
Julius blinked in disbelief. Lord Snarling smiling? Surely not.
“I hate to hear two of my favorite men quarrel so.”
That voice.
Joy surged through Julius like a flame catching dry tinder. He spun around, the world narrowing to the figure framed in the doorway.
She was radiant.
Wearing a fashionably cut gown in the latest Parisian style, her fair hair swept up in a graceful coiffure that revealed touches of blonde and artfully hid hints of brown, she smiled with effortless warmth. Her moss-green eyes sparkled in the light, just as they had in his childhood memories.
Julius gripped the back of the armchair, staggered by the sight. His knees felt strangely unsteady.
“Mother,” he breathed.
Lady Smiling tilted her head, her expression alight with affection and amusement. It had been far too long, but in that moment, it felt as though she had never left.
Julius could scarcely believe it. His mother was home.
Audrey was ensconced in the library, slogging through the second chapter of the memoirs.
Her lack of sleep, her limited German, and the unfamiliar nature of the subject had made progress agonizingly slow.
She had just woken from a brief doze, discreetly patting her hair to ensure the pins had held, when a footman knocked and opened the door.
“His lordship has requested an audience in his study, Miss Gideon.”
Audrey blinked in sleepy bewilderment and bobbed a nod. The manservant departed, and Audrey dropped her head into her folded arms with a low groan of despair.
Lord Stirling was back?
How was she to explain what had happened? It turned out there was something worse than facing that fusty lug, Lady Astley, and that was facing a man she respected to explain her utterly mortifying behavior.
Was Lord Stirling aware that Julius had proposed marriage? And how would the earl react to his heir marrying a gentlewoman of no consequence from the country? No one could reasonably argue that she was prepared for the role of future countess.
Anxiety coiled in her stomach. Analytically, Audrey knew it was physiologically impossible for one’s gut to be tied in a knot, but the sensation defied all rational argument. The scandal had caught up with her, and she must now endure the first wave of criticism.
She rose, shaking out her arms and shoulders in a bid to summon her courage, then made for the door.
Until the footman had spoken, she had not given much thought to the earl or what he might say about everything that had transpired during his absence.
He had been a proper, somewhat distant guardian, and even after months under his roof, Audrey had no clear notion of how he would respond.
It was a short walk from the library to the study, but as she went, she noted the subtle signs of renewed occupation.
A footman passed her carrying a large trunk.
Odd, considering the earl had been expected to be away only briefly.
The household, too, felt taut with alertness.
Was it simply the weight of his presence? Or had something changed?
She reached the study door and knocked, waiting for permission before placing her hand on the handle. With her shoulders squared as though bracing for battle, she entered.
Julius and his mother had left Lord Snarling’s study to speak privately. Now they sat on the terrace overlooking the garden, a tray of tea set between them. Julius was still gathering his wits after her unexpected return.
“It is good to see you, Mother,” he said and meant it. He was still rather overcome by the reunion.
“It has been too long. Over six years since I saw you off at the docks.”
Julius could scarcely recall that day, except for having his head buried in a bucket. The Channel winds had blustered with cruel cheer, as though mocking his tendency toward seasickness. He had blessed the moment his boots had touched French soil.
“Is … Penelope …”
“She is upstairs,” Lady Smiling said gently. “Exhausted from traveling, but she will come down for dinner.”
Julius stared out at the neatly clipped hedges, at a loss for what to say next. The timing of his mother’s return was deeply inconvenient. He had not yet explained to his father the contents of Lady Astley’s letter or the macabre events that had led Audrey to go into hiding with him.
And now there was his mother, whom he dearly liked, and whose regard he had always cherished. How was he to explain the proposal he had made? So cold, so transactional? That he might pursue other women in future?
Sitting beside his mother only made the entire affair seem more despicable.
Brendan had been right. Why was he not doing the honorable thing? Not to placate scandal, but from authentic purpose?
His mother’s presence was forcing him to confront an uncomfortable truth.
The real reason Audrey could not be permitted to leave England was—
He cut the thought off.
“How …?” he began, but the words failed him.
Lady Smiling set her teacup down and turned to face him fully, her moss-green eyes calm but bright.
“I have to thank you for bringing me home,” she said softly.
Julius stared, blank. He was light-headed with joy to see her again, mortified that she would soon learn of his appalling behavior toward Audrey, and now, utterly confused by her words.
“I … brought you home?” he asked, uncertain he had heard her correctly.
His mother smiled and nodded. “You did. You said the words your father needed to hear. It made me realize something I had never fully understood before … something about the hazards of high society.”
He tilted his head. “Which are?”
“We are raised to remain silent. To not speak our minds.
I was unhappy with how things stood between your father and me.
I hated that he worked so much, that he had so little time, or energy, for me.
Or for our family. So I left. I went to Paris, hoping it would make him take notice. Hoping he would change.
“But months passed. Then years. And nothing changed. Eventually, I gave up hope and resigned myself to being estranged from him, from you and from Pierce. The trouble was … I never tried the direct route.”
Julius struggled with his mother’s intimate confession about her relationship with his father. He had long suspected all that she had now revealed, but it had never been spoken aloud.
His mother had never been a typical member of the ton.
She was lighter of spirit, less inclined to criticism, and unfailingly pleasant company.
Lady Stirling was well-liked amongst the beau monde, despite her colorful fashion and irreverent manners, but she remained, always, a private person.
She did not speak of personal matters. At least, never in his presence.
His lips had gone dry. He lifted his tea and took a sip to mask his unease.
“The direct route?” he echoed.
She smiled. “It was brave of you to speak your mind to your father. I could have spared our family a great deal of trouble had I done the same. But instead, I ran off to Paris. At the time, it felt like the proper move. In retrospect, I was being rather dramatic in an effort to avoid”—she shook her head, as though scolding her past self—“well, to avoid being dramatic.”
“Dramatic?” It was the only word he could manage.