Chapter 22 #3
Carenza read the letter twice and then left it on the dressing table.
What did he expect her to do? Write back and reassure him that she was as happy as a woman could be and that there was nothing for him to worry about?
That would be a lie, and Julian wasn’t a fool.
He must know she’d returned home in disgrace.
It was a good thing that almost no one visited the Musgroves anyway, because they would certainly stay away now.
The whole country now knew her name, and her family were receiving mail from everywhere in reply to the advertisement. Carenza’s father ordered that everything they received should be burned. It was only by chance that Julian’s letter had gotten through to her in the first place.
She’d also had a note from Aragon telling her he’d successfully bought up a considerable portion of Walcott’s debts and was poised to deliver the bad news to the gentleman himself.
Aragon wrote that Olivia had decided to accompany him when he told Walcott and that he had faith that they’d never hear from the scoundrel again.
He also added a postscript that his mother was leaving London and making plans to move into the dower house at his country estate.
Carenza was momentarily diverted from her misery to wonder whether Lady Landon was departing voluntarily or if Aragon had finally fully claimed his earldom and sent her packing. She hoped it was the latter. Aragon had proved to be a staunch ally to his brother after all.
She turned as her mother, Rosaria, came into her bedroom with her usual flowing grace. She looked more like Carenza’s sister than the mother of three grown children, her black hair barely streaked with silver, and her figure as voluptuous as ever.
“There is no need to skulk in here on such a beautiful day, cara mia. You are home now and have nothing to be ashamed of.”
“I’m not ashamed.” Carenza turned to her mother. “I’m just worn out worrying about all the people I’ve hurt because of my actions.”
Her mother took her arm, the lush notes of her perfume swirling around them. “You can worry just as well outside, dearest. Your father and brother are off touring the farms, collecting rent, so I am the only person you need to talk to.”
“When is Allegra due home?”
“I’m not sure. I think your father plans to send the carriage back to collect her, and he wanted to give the horses time to rest between the trips.” Her mother moved over to the dressing table and picked up Julian’s note.
“Mother, it’s rude to read other people’s correspondence.” Carenza tried to grab the letter but her mother held her off until she’d finished reading.
“This is hardly the letter of a lover,” she said disapprovingly. “Your father wrote me poetry!”
“Now that I do find hard to believe.”
“He has the soul of a romantic,” her mother continued. “It was my singing that entranced him and made him fall in love with me.”
They all knew the story of how the earl had attended a private operatic performance and how he’d fallen instantly and passionately in love with the singer and defied everyone to make Rosaria his wife.
He’d never faltered in his devotion to her.
He still sought her out in a room, and when she sang for him, he never took his eyes off her. It was exceedingly romantic.
“Do you love him?”
“Yes,” Carenza said. Her mother had extracted the full story of Carenza’s affair with Julian as soon as she’d arrived home.
“Then will you reply to him in encouraging terms?”
“I’m not sure.” Carenza looked at her mother. “Perhaps he is better off without me.”
Rosaria snorted. “I doubt that. You are a prize.”
“I’m a doubly disgraced woman who advertised for a lover in the newspapers,” Carenza said. “I won’t be accepted back into society, and Julian is an integral part of that world.”
“Surely that is up to him to decide. If he suddenly appeared and asked for your hand in marriage, would you turn him down?”
“Yes.”
“Because your sacrifice is worth more than your love for each other?” Her mother sniffed. “I tried to persuade your father to take me as his mistress rather than his wife, but he wouldn’t listen to me. I’m glad he didn’t listen, but I still had to make the offer.”
“You’re saying that I’ve already made my own offer? And now it is up to Julian to decide whether to ignore society or not,” Carenza said slowly.
“Exactly!” Her mother looked delighted. “So, write to this man and invite him down to see you.”
“And what if he says no?” Carenza asked as her mother linked arms with her and drew her out of the room and into the corridor beyond.
“Then he’s not the man for you,” her mother said with great certainty. “You deserve a great love in your life, Carenza, just as I did. If Julian is not the one, I will take you to Italy, where men are far less stuffy about such things, and I will find you a beautiful man to marry.”
“I can’t wait,” Carenza said, which made her mother laugh as they went out into the garden, where the butler had set out their lunch.
Two days later, the earl sent his coachman to London to pick up Allegra and the servants who would be joining the staff at Musgrove House.
Carenza sent her note to Julian with the coachman.
Ever since, she’d been plagued with bad dreams where Julian laughed in her face in public, or worse, gave her the cut direct.
If he replied via the coachman, she didn’t expect to hear from him for a week.
She did wonder if he might escort Allegra home but reminded herself not to get her hopes up.
Julian still had a lot to lose by associating with her, and she wouldn’t be angry with him if he chose not to come.
For once, Julian wasn’t surprised to see Aragon coming through his bedroom door. He’d sent his brother a note requesting his presence.
“You’re going to Musgrove House?” Aragon asked as he came in, nodding to Proctor, who was busy packing his employer’s clothing.
“Yes, I received a note from Lady Carenza yesterday.”
“Saying what?”
“That she’d be willing to receive me. That was all I asked for.”
“Fool.” Aragon rolled his eyes.
“I’d rather have the conversation in person,” Julian said. “It’s easier to gauge someone’s sincerity when you can see their face.”
“Rather.” Aragon grinned at him. “You should’ve seen Walcott’s expression yesterday when he realized he was done for.”
“Walcott?” Julian looked closely at his brother.
“Here.” Aragon took a sheaf of papers tied in a ribbon out of his pocket. “I think you should take care of these.”
“What is it?”
“I bought up Walcott’s gambling debts.” Aragon grinned again. “We own him now. If he so much as looks at you strangely, we can call them in and destroy his reputation as a gentleman.”
Julian untied the ribbon and looked through the scrawls on the scraps of paper and the notes from money lenders before raising his gaze to his brother’s. “You did this for me?”
“Yes, of course.”
“I … don’t know how to thank you.”
Aragon thumped his shoulder. “Yes, you do. Go and ask Lady Carenza to marry you. I’ll even stand up with you.”
Julian embraced his brother. “Thank you.”
“Steady on now,” Aragon said. “People will think we like each other or something.”
“It will amuse you to know that Simon and I hatched a similar plan.”
“To ruin Walcott?” Aragon raised his eyebrows.
“Yes, I’m now the proud owner of all the mortgages he’s taken out on his family home. I was planning on paying him a visit before I left for Norfolk.”
Aragon grinned. “Great minds think alike, brother. May I accompany you when you deliver the bad news? I can’t wait to see his face when I turn up on his doorstep again—and demand entry into the house he doesn’t really own.”
Two hours later, after an exceedingly satisfactory meeting with Percival, Julian was in his curricle, driving himself out of London and toward Norfolk, where the Musgroves had their country residence.
He’d thought briefly about offering to accompany Lady Allegra, but he couldn’t wait for the horses to be rested, or for her to finally decide to leave.
He reached the house in the evening and was greeted at the front door by the butler who had managed the house since Julian was a boy.
“Mr. Laurent, how nice to see you.” The butler took his hat and cloak. “The family are currently at dinner. Lady Carenza did mention you might be joining us. Perhaps I might show you to your room, and I’ll inform his lordship of your arrival.”
“Thank you.” Julian followed the butler up the old shallow staircase with its exposed timbers into the more modern part of the house, where guests weren’t subject to the vagaries of low medieval beams and corridors leading nowhere.
“I’ll send a maid up to light the fire, sir,” the butler said. “And would you wish for something to eat? I’m sure Cook could send up a tray.”
“Yes, please. And may I borrow one of your footmen to help with my attire? If I am to meet the earl, I need to change my coat.”
“Of course, sir.”
A maid appeared almost immediately with hot water and soap for him to wash with.
She lit the fire and chatted away as a footman put away Julian’s clothing and took his best coat to press.
Julian was surprisingly nervous—something he hadn’t experienced for years.
But then, he’d never been in love before, so he had to make some allowances for his heightened emotions, even if he didn’t like them one bit.
He wanted to speak to Carenza but had a shrewd suspicion that the earl would insist on speaking to him first. The earl had the right to ask what the devil he was up to.
How he answered that question might determine whether his suit would be acceptable or if he would be ejected from the house immediately.
When he returned with Julian’s coat, the footman assisted him into it and stood back to watch Julian adjust his attire to his satisfaction with a worshipful expression on his face. “I want to be a valet, sir,” he blurted.