Chapter 18
“I leave to others the decision as to the good or evil tendencies of my character.”
Giacomo Casanova
“You are my heir, Julius! You could have been killed!”
“You have Pierce if something happens to me. No need to fret about heirs,” Julius shot back.
Lord Stirling halted his pacing, his brows furrowing into a scowl of pain. Then, surprisingly, his features eased. “I meant to say … you are my son, and your loss would have been a terrible tragedy.”
Julius blinked, unsettled by this unfamiliar softness from the man who had returned from Paris with his wife. “Never say you would mourn my death? I thought I was an incorrigible lout.”
“Both can be true,” the earl replied with a hint of a snarl.
Julius grinned. “I am glad to hear you have not entirely lost your character, Father. For a moment, I feared Paris had tamed you into some domesticated pet.”
The earl’s jaw worked as if preparing a scolding, his blue eyes narrowing.
He was notoriously adept at keeping his thoughts to himself, which Julius found infuriating.
It was up to him, therefore, to provoke a genuine response now and again.
One could not allow a man to solidify into a statue of cold marble, after all.
But instead of launching into a tirade, Lord Stirling stared at him for a long moment and, utterly unexpectedly, burst into a gale of laughter.
Julius stiffened, struck by the sound. It echoed of his youth, of better days, when his father’s laughter had not been so rare.
Catching his breath, the earl gave a hoarse chuckle. “I believe it is you who has been tamed, son.”
Julius groaned, half-growl, half-confession. “Nauseatingly so.”
Had his father not detained him just now, he would be on his way to making reparations to Audrey for his disastrous proposal.
Since his realization on the terrace, he had been desperate to find her to apologize, to offer his heart rather than mere protection.
But his father had waylaid him for this private discussion and, now here he was, trapped in the study and baring his soul like a man on the rack.
What if Audrey did not wish to hear it? What if she had accepted his offer solely out of necessity and desired nothing more than a marriage of convenience?
That thought struck deep, and not for the first time. His own feelings were a tempest he had yet to fully map. But one thing was certain, if Audrey did not want something more, he would be sorely, bitterly disappointed.
They had not spoken since breakfast, and the thought of her facing his father and their household alone made him uneasy. Had her meeting with the earl been distressing?
He caught his father watching him with a lifted brow.
Julius ground his teeth. “It is true. I am … partially tamed.”
Lord Stirling gave a smug smile. “It is more difficult than it appears.”
Julius gave a reluctant nod.
“I approve,” the earl said quietly. “Miss Gideon will make an excellent wife.”
He snorted. “‘Miss Gideon will make an excellent wife,’” Julius repeated with dry mimicry. “Audrey has lived under your roof for five months and you still address her as Miss Gideon. Dash it, I hate the formality of the peerage! You are such a stuffy lot.”
Lord Stirling sighed heavily, his gaze dropping to the intricate navy blue and red Aubusson rug beneath his feet. The weight of generations seemed to press upon his shoulders.
“We could stand to be less stuffy,” he admitted. “At least amongst family.” He drew a long breath. “Audrey will make an excellent wife. You have chosen well.”
Julius gave a sharp exhale. “There was not much choosing.”
His father’s lips twitched into a rare smirk. “I do not believe that is true. The gods themselves may have created her. She may be the only woman capable of moderating my rebellious heir. At the very least, she can stitch you up after your next misadventure.”
Julius twisted his signet ring in restless frustration. His father seemed far too amused by the chaos Julius had found himself in. Lord Stirling likely viewed this unexpected engagement as long-overdue justice for a recalcitrant son. The worst part was, he might be right.
He only hoped the gods would be merciful when he offered Audrey something better than the travesty of a proposal he had first made.
Lord Stirling’s expression sobered, his voice shifting to a lower register. “What of this murder investigation? Is there a risk to your mother and sister?”
Julius nodded. “There might be. We have guards posted, but Mother and Penelope should remain home for the next few days, at least until this danger is settled.”
The earl’s jaw tensed. “This is untenable. I expect to meet with the other men. We must bring it to a swift resolution.”
“Agreed.” Julius inclined his head. He hoped his father might also assist him in another matter, so now was not the time to argue. He needed the earl’s cooperation for more than one problem.
Audrey dined with the family, enjoying conversation with the lively Lady Stirling and the charming Penelope, who resembled a younger version of the countess, both in appearance and in animated manner.
Following warm congratulations on the forthcoming nuptials, along with the continental custom of a buss to each cheek, the countess regaled them with tales of her adventures in Paris.
The city sounded as dazzling as a dream, yet the endless social engagements and glittering nights left Audrey quietly yearning for the simpler life she had known in Stirling.
After dinner, the earl requested that Lady Stirling play the pianoforte, and the party adjourned to the music room, a chamber Audrey had never before entered.
It was an intimate space, every detail reflecting the countess’s exuberant style.
She wore an exquisite sea-green gown trimmed in frothy white lace, reminiscent of waves capped in seafoam.
The walls were papered in a bronzed green, and beneath their feet lay a sumptuous rug woven in a grand radial design of red, ivory, and gold.
Audrey and Penelope crossed to a pair of red silk chairs with gilded frames, while Lady Stirling made her way to the pianoforte by the tall windows overlooking the dusky gardens.
The instrument itself was a work of art—its elegant mahogany case gleaming, its interior fashioned from flame maple, adorned with fine ormolu mounts that caught the last flicker of daylight.
Gathering her music sheets with graceful ease, the countess seated herself, and Lord Stirling joined her, leaning one elbow on the instrument with the easy manner of a man content to spend the evening in his wife’s company.
She began to play an Irish aria of haunting beauty, her fingers dancing across the keys as her voice filled the room in perfect, crystalline pitch.
The earl turned the pages for her, his gaze never straying from her face, an expression of admiration softening his usually stern features.
The two young women listened in rapt silence. The countess’s voice, rich with feeling, soared through the chamber like a memory brought to life. Her mastery of the instrument and her graceful phrasing would not have been out of place on the opera stage.
Audrey drifted into a dreamlike state, her thoughts meandering to her upcoming nuptials with Julius and the fragile hope of winning his true affections. The music enveloped her, stirring longings she had not yet dared to name.
It was some minutes before she noticed that Penelope, beside her, was staring out the window at the burnished hues of the setting sun, her expression tinged with wistfulness. Audrey was struck by the realization that, before long, they would be sisters. Perhaps it was time to forge a bond.
She leaned slightly toward her. “It must have been interesting to come out in Paris?”
Penelope smiled. “Paris is a beautiful city, and the fashions there are far more sophisticated than those in England. I believe Mama will be quite disheartened when she realizes she must now return to London modistes for her attire.”
Audrey nodded, still thinking of the look of longing she had seen upon Penelope’s face earlier. “Did you meet any interesting gentlemen in Paris?”
Blinking, as though called back from distant thoughts, Penelope hesitated. Audrey sensed she was weighing the intimacy of the question. After all, they scarcely knew one another. But perhaps, reaching the same conclusion as Audrey, she at last replied.
“There was one. I had been hopeful he might announce his intentions. But when I told him I would be returning to London, he did not appear moved in the least. He simply wished me a safe journey and …” She stopped, her gaze falling to her lap where her gloved fingers twined and untwined themselves.
“You hoped for a match?” Audrey asked gently.
Penelope gave a small nod, her expression tinged with sadness.
Audrey longed to offer comfort, but words failed her.
She understood too well the ache of unreciprocated feelings.
Penelope had lost her gentleman to geography and indifference, while Audrey was to wed the man she loved, yet could not be certain he esteemed her in return.
Different circumstances, but the same cruel uncertainty.
Both of them adrift in their affections.
As she watched the earl assist Lady Stirling with the music sheets, his expression alight with affection, Audrey felt the sting of longing rise anew.
Their love was evident, tangible in each glance and shared note.
How fervently she wished Julius might one day look at her with even a fraction of such devotion.
“Perhaps he will follow you to London,” Audrey offered, though she suspected the hope was as much for herself as it was for Penelope.
If she could not win Julius’s heart, perhaps at least she would find comfort in a newfound family.
The thought was strange but oddly consoling. She would no longer be truly alone.
“Perhaps,” Penelope echoed with a soft sigh.