Chapter 18
On Saturday, the first day of February, Susan Styles stood at her window, watching the gray-white mist curl across Marlborough House’s great lawn.
Fog veiled the distant trees, and she wouldn’t be back to see them bud. That morning, Susan had waited on the princess one final time. It was the last morning she’d live in another person’s house. A tap brought her to the door, and four footmen carried her buckled bags and trunks downstairs.
Susan took a last look around. She’d raised her window an inch and smiled at the sound of a rattling carriage. Then she closed the door and walked to the top of the staircase.
Lionel had arrived at Marlborough House ten minutes before his appointed time.
For a change, he wasn’t wearing Home Office iron gray and black.
Susan wondered if he’d dressed to match his mood.
He wore a dove-gray cutaway coat over a creamy double-breasted waistcoat, a red-and-gold paisley tie, and a matching pocket square.
He’d pinned a white carnation to his lapel to crown it all.
Lionel bounded up the steps two at a time and met Susan on the landing. Then he took her hands, kissing them one by one. He tucked her arm under his and said, “Time to break the happy news to Alix.”
When they finished their audience with the Princess of Wales, Lionel grabbed Susan’s hand and raced her down the “God-awful” battlefield staircase.
At the bottom, he took her in his arms and waltzed her across the Blenheim Saloon’s checkerboard floor, passing two astonished footmen and a gaping housemaid. Lionel threw back his head and laughed.
At the front door, he said, “Let’s be off, my darling. We’re going to have a deliriously happy life!”
That same misty Saturday, Julia walked to All Hallows, carrying a small vase with six pink carnations. She loved the simplicity of the familiar brick church with its white stone tower, although the belfry was barely visible that morning.
Julia escaped the fog by slipping through the west front doors.
She entered the nave and looked up. The ceiling’s barrel vault arched over white plaster walls and golden oak pews, the plain glass windows letting in the misty day’s meager sunlight.
Julia crossed to a side aisle, her clicking heels echoing along the north wall.
She stopped at a spot between the first two windows and found the plaque she sought.
It read, WILLIAM AND SUSANNAH LEWIS, 1841, LOST AT SEA ON THE SS PRESIDENT.
THEIR GRAVES ARE KNOWN ONLY TO GOD. Fate had decreed that Julia never knew her parents.
But her grandparents had built a foundation of love and security as solid as the Roman stones beneath the church.
She bent and placed her bouquet at the base of the wall.
The first of February was her mother’s birthday; she would have been fifty-four that day.
Julia wondered what her mother would say if she could speak.
Perhaps, “Life is a precious gift. Don’t waste the time you’re given.
” The church bells rang the hour, a reminder of time’s passage.
Julia would be twenty-nine on her next birthday.
“Seize the day,” her grandfather had said, referring to Richard Tennant.
She thought of him and smiled. His attraction was undeniable.
She felt its pull each time they met. One of these days, he may speak.
What would she say? Julia had wondered if she could be happy with such a guarded man.
Some people married, thinking their partners would change.
Julia neither expected nor wanted a different Richard.
She walked toward the altar and looked up at the half-domed apse. So many had kneeled beneath it, praying for guidance, strength, or the gift of acceptance, “Thy will be done.”
What of her will? It had been a journey.
At last, Julia understood what she wanted.
She loved him. And as for the world’s opinions?
She wouldn’t let its narrow views about marriage rule her.
So, if Richard walked into the church, took her in his arms, and asked her to marry him, she knew what she would say.
She closed her eyes and imagined him drawing near, his embrace, his kiss.
Julia exited the building and walked along the churchyard path, wondering if Richard caught a morning train to London.
She calculated the hours, thinking, Perhaps I’ll see him this evening.
Then there he was, walking out of the mist, moving with a slight hitch in his step, his unbuttoned overcoat flapping. Julia’s heart lifted.
“Richard.” She extended her hands, smiling. “You’re back. I didn’t expect—”
“I caught the milk train.” He tucked her arm under his elbow, and they walked along the path. “Mrs. Ogilvie told me you were here.”
“And the coroner’s jury?”
“A verdict of murder, as expected, although they’ll try FitzGerald for treason in London. It trumps all other charges.”
Julia shook her head. “Each time I see a newspaper headline, I think of his poor wife and sons, wondering how they will survive it.”
“The world won’t soon forget his treachery. Still, the Yard’s work is finished, and I left my report on the commissioner’s desk. I was halfway to the clinic when I remembered today was Doctor Barnes’s Saturday.”
“We’re truants, both of us. Do you … have you plans for the day?” Julia felt a twinge of disappointment when he hesitated. “Can you come to luncheon at least? Aunt Caroline will be there.”
He released her arm and turned. “It depends.”
“On what?”
Tennant looked over her shoulder. “Is it too cold to sit on that bench?”
“Not at all. The fog is lifting. I think we’re in for a lovely day.”
After a fleeting smile, he said, “Perhaps.”
The sun remained a pale, veiled disk, but filtered streaks sliced through the mist, picking out shrubs and stones like footlights on a stage. They walked through the dappled light and sat beneath a sprawling yew’s green needles and red berries.
Tennant removed his hat and leaned forward, sliding the brim through his fingers as it hung between his knees. Julia recognized the habit and waited for him to gather his thoughts.
He laid his hat on the bench. “Do you visit here often?”
“Yes, it’s our parish church. My grandparents were married here, and there’s a memorial to my parents inside.” Julia smiled. “When I was a little girl and feeling sorry for myself, I’d stare at it, brooding. Not that I had much to complain about. No grandparents could have been more loving.”
“You were lucky.”
Julia waited for more. Then she said, “My grandparents said they were the lucky ones. They’d lost their only child, but God had gifted them another, although I’m not sure I was always much of a present.”
“My mother … well, let’s say she was nothing like your grandmother. That’s why … perhaps it explains …” He cleared his throat. “Julia, you’ve tried to draw me out many times. But it’s … difficult to break a lifetime’s habit of reticence. I’m sorry.”
His labored admission wrung her heart. “Well, you’re making a start.”
“More than you know.” Then he stood, raking his fingers through his dark hair.
Julia rose from the bench and touched his arm. “Tell me.”
“Your grandfather. His welcome. Including me in the family circle. And your aunt. Lady Aldridge has a kindly interest in me, always.”
Julia smiled. “More than you know.”
He took a step closer. He took her hand and pressed it above his heart. She felt hers race.
“Before we met, my life was empty. I never want to live that way again.”
Her eyes filled, and she blinked at tears. He turned her hand over and raised her palm to his lips. The sensation thrummed through her like a cello’s deep chord. Her lips parted, and she took a shaky breath.
“I love you, Julia. Say you’ll marry me.”
Doubts? They vanished like the mist. He released her hand, and Julia touched his cheek with her fingertips. “Yes. Oh yes.”
He cupped her face, and she closed her eyes.
His lips found hers, and he kissed her lightly, then deeply, then lingeringly.
When he finally pulled back, she felt like a diver after a plunge, swimming, breaking the surface, taking a first deep breath.
She slipped her arms under his overcoat and around his waist and laid her cheek against the rough tweed of his shoulder.
An hour later, they walked arm and arm around Finsbury Circus and mounted the steps of number 17. He put out his hand to stop her as she inserted the latchkey.
“Wait.”
“What is it?”
“Suddenly, I feel oddly nervous about speaking to your grandfather,” he said, bemused.
“Truly? Well, I know what Aunt Caroline will say.” She turned the key and pushed the door.
“You’re certain?”
“About everything.” Julia took his hands and backed over the threshold, pulling him with her.
“Dearest Richard. Welcome home.”