Chapter 17 #2
His mother laughed, the familiar, lilting sound stirring memories of a much younger Julius, when laughter had come more easily in the Trafford household.
“Melodramatic is more like it,” she said. “I never told your father I wished for change. Not directly. How could he be expected to alter his behavior if I never explained what I needed?”
Julius struggled to find his footing. His view of the world—of marriage, of his parents—had long been fixed, shaped like clay hardened in the sun.
But now it was softening, shifting. He felt as though he were back at sea, the deck tilting beneath his feet, the air too close.
His head was spinning. His mother’s nearness, her frankness, was throwing everything out of balance.
“But … do you not … regret being trapped in a marriage with Lord Snarli—Father?”
Lady Smiling pursed her lips, the mossy hue of her eyes clouded by reflection. Julius did not notice the tiny brown flecks within the green bands. Hers had always been harder to discern than his own. “Is that what you think of your father? That he is a snarling beast?”
“He is a beast,” Julius said, but the assertion lacked conviction.
“Your father shoulders an extraordinary number of responsibilities. More than one man ought to carry alone. Your … remonstrations over our family’s affairs have forced him to re-evaluate his priorities.
” She paused, then added gently, “He has informed the King that he cannot continue in his official capacity. He is to make time for his other affairs. For us.”
Julius frowned. He dropped his gaze to his teacup, feeling uncomfortably like a boy who had been caught stealing from the pantry. It was awkward to have his criticism laid bare.
“Father has neglected you for years,” he said at last. “It is untenable … the way he abandoned you.”
He glanced up to gauge her reaction and saw his mother’s lean face etched with quiet regret. Her fingertips drifted over the rings on her hand as she contemplated him.
“Son,” she said softly, “I do not regret my marriage. I wish I had spoken with your father, tried to understand how to ease his burdens instead of adding to them. The mistakes were just as much mine as his. Instead of urging him to devote more time to his home, I walked away and left him to shoulder it all alone.” His mother sighed.
“A simple conversation might have changed everything. Your words to him were taken to heart. And I regret … I regret that I was not more sincere in my own. I cannot expect him to know my grievances if I never spoke them aloud. That is why I admire you, Julius. You voiced what I did not.”
Hearing her accept part of the blame for the unraveling of their marriage was the very last thing Julius had expected, or wanted, to hear.
He had put her on a pedestal and laid all the blame squarely at his father’s feet. Blamed it on marriage itself, when the truth was far more complex.
Lord Stirling was a great man who had made mistakes.
His mother was a wonderful woman who was also flawed.
It had been easy to witness the stern countenance of his father and the merry mien of his mother and assume where the fault must lie. But now, if he understood her correctly, marriage was not a trap at all. It was a partnership, a living bond that required both parties to nurture it.
Julius dropped his face into his hands, uttering a low groan as the deck of his assumptions tilted beneath him once more. His thoughts reeled with the revelation he had been stubbornly refusing to admit.
He was in love.
There was not another soul on earth like his sweet, spirited Audrey.
How could he go on with his usual flirtations, entertain widows in the shadows, when all he wanted, all he thought about, was the remarkable woman who had stolen his heart?
His ghastly proposal … good heavens, what a mess! Audrey must believe herself unwanted, unappreciated, an afterthought to his freedom. And all because he had muttered something about possibly wandering off like a grubby child tempted by sweets.
Of course he knew his mind.
He knew that with every day spent in her company, his admiration would only grow. She was bold, brilliant, and brave. He valued her above all others he had ever met. Even Lady Smiling, his own radiant mother, could not compare to Audrey’s singular fire.
It was as though the gods themselves had fashioned a woman of perfect mettle and handed her to him—to him!—and he had insulted her, wounded her, offended her, the one creature who could challenge him to be better. Not by chaining him down, but by tempering him into more thoughtful action.
Brendan was right.
I am a fool.
Audrey was the most nervous she had ever been as she stepped into the earl’s study. Perhaps if she had not kissed Julius, or slept in his arms, she would have felt more confident facing Lord Stirling. She might have borne the moment with the dignity of someone who had done no wrong.
But she had. And they shared far too much time alone than was acceptable for a young lady.
Which meant she was now mortified to speak with the father of the man she loved about the terrible cloud of scandal she had brought upon the Stirling household.
Lord Stirling stood by the fireplace, his hands clasped behind his back, staring into the hearth. Audrey hovered in the doorway, uncertain whether she should speak, waiting in nervous anticipation for him to turn.
When he did not, she gathered her courage.
“Lord Stirling?”
He glanced over his shoulder, not quite meeting her eyes, then returned his gaze to the hearth. “I am afraid I have let you down, Miss Gideon.”
Audrey frowned, confused. “I am afraid it is I who have let you down, my lord.”
His shoulders tensed. He sighed, then turned at last to face her. Still, he avoided meeting her gaze, gesturing for her to sit in one of the plump navy blue armchairs facing the fire.
Audrey hesitated, then crossed the room and perched on the edge of the seat. The earl sank into the other chair, his fingers adjusting the lapels of his coat with an air of distraction, as though brushing away invisible lint … or shame.
“Your father entrusted me with your welfare,” he said quietly. “And I believed myself up to the task. I never considered that my son would …” He trailed off, jaw tightening. “Lord Trafford has never entangled himself in such a matter. Had I suspected otherwise, I would have kept you apart.”
Audrey swallowed. It seemed the earl had not yet spoken with Julius and was unaware of the particulars.
“Jul—” She stopped short, stricken at the slip of his Christian name.
The earl tensed, his expression sharpening.
Audrey blew out a breath, dismayed. “Lord Trafford has not informed you of the circumstances?”
“He has not. Julius made some cryptic jest about his circulation being compromised. My son is a law unto himself. I fail to understand him at the best of times.”
“I see … um … well …” Audrey’s fingers clutched the edge of the seat. “Lord Trafford was attacked. Right outside. In the street.”
She gestured vaguely toward the front hall.
“When I saw the knife, I acted on instinct. I grabbed one of your swords from the display to frighten the scoundrel off. Jul—Lord Trafford sustained a wound—laceration to the torso—and he was losing a great deal of blood. I was compelled to treat him.”
She drew a breath, struggling to recall the sequence clearly, her nerves fraying.
“He insisted we were in danger, and we fled to Lady Hays’s house so I might … so I might clean and stitch the wound …”
Lord Stirling leapt to his feet with a look of alarm. Given that he was a gentleman in his fifties with a solid build, Audrey had not known he could move so quickly. She supposed he was rather fit, so it ought not to have astonished her, yet still she stared in consternation.
“Are you telling me Julius could have been killed?”
Audrey nibbled her lip and gave a small nod.
“What the blazes is going on?”
She licked her lips, floundering for a suitable response. It felt disloyal to reveal Julius’s actions without his permission.
“Perhaps Jul—Lord Trafford should explain the situation himself,” she ventured.
Lord Stirling shook his head sharply, as though to clear his thoughts.
“I shall speak with him. Regardless, your reputation must be considered. The specifics notwithstanding, I shall impress upon Julius that he must do the honorable thing. His philosophical objections to proper conduct are irrelevant. He will marry you. If that is what you wish?”
The breath escaped Audrey in a silent sigh.
She had been so afraid the earl would object to a match with someone of her standing.
His calm acceptance, his readiness to acknowledge her as a potential daughter-in-law, touched something deep inside her.
She was no diamond of the first water. No heiress.
No duke’s daughter. And yet here he stood, offering his support with dignity and conviction.
“Lord Trafford has already offered me the protection of his name,” she replied. “He told me a special license is being obtained by the Duke of Halmesbury, so that we may wed by the end of the week.”
The earl’s brow creased in genuine surprise. “Julius offered you marriage?”
“He did.”
Lord Stirling studied her, his head tilting as though seeing her anew.
He was a busy man, burdened by Crown duties and often called away on matters of state.
Audrey had never taken his indifference personally.
He had welcomed her into his home, after all, without so much as a murmur of complaint.
But now, for the first time, she felt him truly look at her.
And in that moment, he saw something that made his expression soften.
One hand rose to rub his clean-shaven chin, and his blue eyes gleamed with faint intrigue.
“Then there is no doubt you are a most singular young lady, Miss Gideon. I had prepared myself for battle. I expected Julius to resist marriage at every turn. That he would propose willingly …” He trailed off with a shake of the head.
“You may have done me a great favor, bringing him up to scratch. I thought … well, never mind.”
A twist of guilt caught in Audrey’s chest.
Julius had made the offer to salvage her reputation, not from affection. Not yet. She still had to win his esteem as a wife. If she failed, he would pursue more enticing paramours, leaving her with little more than a title and heartbreak.
The very idea made her throat tighten.
She had hoped Casanova’s memoirs would help her understand how to tempt such a contrary buck, but they had thus far yielded little. It was proving harder than she had imagined.
She summoned a small smile. “Thank you, my lord.”
“Is this what you want? I fear I may have neglected my duties as a guardian. We ought to have discussed your future long before now.”
Audrey drew a breath and summoned her courage. This was her moment. She did not know when, or if, she might be granted another opportunity to speak so freely. If she failed to declare her wishes now, she would continue to be shaped by the expectations of others.
“I wish to be a healer,” she said steadily. “My father taught me a great deal over the years, and it is my earnest desire to care for the health of others.”
The earl grew thoughtful, the tick of the ormolu clock on the mantel marking the seconds as he considered her words. At last, he inclined his head with grave attention.
“It is remiss of me not to have known this,” he said at last. “As the future Countess of Stirling, you cannot engage in paid work, of course, but it is customary for the lady of the household to tend to the tenants’ needs.
Your father was a most capable physician, and I would be gratified to have his daughter assist in the welfare of my people.
There are matters you may support me in.
Indeed, I have several cases in mind already. ”
Audrey beamed, her heart lightening. The earl’s endorsement would be a powerful form of patronage.
Though she knew the apothecaries’ guild would likely never admit her, his support would open doors.
Through him, she could apply her knowledge to help countless families across his many estates.
Stirling itself might one day accept her, not only as a countess, but as a healer.
If only she could be so confident about Julius.
Audrey’s smile faded slightly. Winning Lord Stirling’s approval had come more easily than expected. But could she win the heart of her betrothed? Could she ever truly manage Julius, as the earl seemed to hope?
She did not know. All she knew was that failure would not merely break her heart. It would make her feel an outsider in the very family that had welcomed her in.