Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
T hree days passed and Juliet’s patient recovered rapidly. She bound and dressed its wound, applying a poultice under the bandage to help the healing process.
As it recovered, she gave it the run of the guest rooms, taking care that it was always shut away in a wardrobe whenever the servants were around. To make sure it did not escape into the castle before it was well enough, she remained in her rooms to watch over it. In all that time, she saw nothing of Horatio.
At first, she was so caught up in her tending to her little patient that she did not notice.
By the second day, she wondered at his absence. She had felt a connection with him following their swim together. A small thing—but it was certainly there. A shared eccentricity, something she was unused to having in common with anyone. Perhaps that was too much to expect. Just because the Duke had eccentricities of his own did not mean that he relished the prospect of marrying her.
By the third day, a gloom had settled over her. Her feelings were clearly mistaken. Horatio made no attempt to communicate with her and did not visit her rooms. Neither did her Aunt or cousin, though their absence was more of a blessing.
At midday, on the third day since her swim in the mere, she sat by a window seat in her bedroom. The rabbit lay nestled in her lap, having concluded that she was no threat to it and possibly associating her with the lessening of its pain and discomfort. Tea and sandwiches had been brought to her by a maid and she had summoned the courage to ask for an audience with the Duke. She would confront him about their future prospects.
Was she to be a wife in name only before being retired to a remote house and living alone and obscure? If so, she needed to resign herself to that. In turn, that would require her to know her fate.
It had seemed to her that it would be easy, once she knew. But that knowledge was proving difficult to reconcile. The prospect of being married to Horatio but being unable to touch him or even be in company with him was a heartbreaking one.
That was unexpected.
“What am I to do, Patch ?” she whispered to the rabbit, named for the white patch around its right eye. “I thought myself ambivalent about him. I was, after all, being forced into wedlock. But now, I wonder exactly how unwilling I am. Has my head been turned by a handsome face? A handsome face, and a sculpted body comparable to Michaelangelo’s David…”
She trailed off, blushing furiously.
The notion of Horatio’s body was one that sent tingles through her own. The memory of being naked in his presence, her modesty protected only by a makeshift screen of leafy branches. Had he sneaked a look at her? Did he, at this very moment, hold the memory of her undressed body in his mind? Did he dream of her? Lust over her?
“Oh my, Patch!” she gasped with a little laugh. “I must control my imagination or it will land me in trouble. I must control my expectations. Some foolishness in a lake by two people behaving like children does not make a great love affair.”
A knock came at the door then. Taking care not to frighten Patch, she returned him to the nest she had contrived for him in her wardrobe and closed the door just enough to prevent him from escaping.
“Come in!” she called loud enough to be heard in the anteroom beyond the bedchamber.
A door opened, and footsteps sounded on the wooden floor of the anteroom. Juliet suddenly found herself breathless. She smoothed her skirts unnecessarily and fanned herself with her hand.
The door to the bedchamber opened soon after, but the butler, Mr. Hall, was revealed.
“Good afternoon, Miss Semphill,” he said gravely, bowing from the neck.
“Good… afternoon, Mr. Hall,” Juliet stammered.
“How may I be of assistance?” he asked solemnly.
It sounded odd, such formality in the accents of a West Country commoner. Odd, but refreshing. Juliet realized that it was a characteristic of Ravenscourt that she was coming to love. All of its refreshing freedoms. She felt a pang of sadness at the thought that while she would be living here, it would only be briefly, and then she would likely never see the house or its master again.
“I had asked for an audience with Horatio… I mean, with His Grace , the Duke,” Juliet hastily amended.
“I regret to say, Miss, that His Grace has requested that he not be disturbed.”
Juliet frowned. “For three days?”
“Yes, Miss,” came the implacable response.
“Does he ordinarily isolate himself, or…” Juliet faltered, not sure if she wanted the question answered, “or does he simply not wish to be in company with me?”
Something in her voice or her face, or perhaps both, seemed to break through Hall’s steadfastness. His broad face twitched and his great, dark eyebrows gathered together.
“He does not desire the company of any who are currently guests within the castle,” the butler said, finally.
Juliet felt crestfallen.
She told herself that she was being silly. This had never been a marriage born out of love. Or even lust. It was a pragmatic solution to a silly situation that should never have arisen. How could she have expected Horatio to think differently on the basis of a frolic in a lake?
“Miss… may I be quite frank?” Hall suddenly asked.
Juliet looked up to regard the butler. “Yes, of course. I would value it greatly, Mr. Hall.”
“I have known His Grace for a very long time. I won’t say how —as that’s for his nibs to reveal, if and when, but I know him better than anyone but God and all His Saints. Better than anyone living, anyway. That is all to say, he’s a wool-headed mule at times and can’t be trusted to make his own decisions in the right way.”
Juliet could not help but laugh at the butler’s frank honesty. And at his affectionate description of his master’s stubbornness. It made both master and servant more endearing. More human.
“I think it might be best if you were to ignore what I’ve said and go find him,” Hall finished.
Juliet gasped, and Hall grimaced. “Can’t be saying that as His Grace’s manservant, of course. But sometimes, he doesn’t know what’s best for him. Or what’s under his nose. So, that’s that. If there’s nothing else, Miss?”
“One more thing. Does the Duke… care for me?” Juliet asked, summoning all of her courage.
She braced herself for the negative answer. Or even for this remarkably sincere butler to laugh in her face. Though he had just encouraged her to seek out his master, perhaps it was a trick or a jest? Perhaps, he regarded her as nothing more than a courtesan.
“His Grace don’t tell me about what’s in his heart. Doesn’t admit it to himself, even. But, he can’t hide from me the look in his eyes when he came in from the mere with you the other day. Dripping wet, half-naked, and never more alive. That’s all I’ll say, Miss.”
With that, he left the room, and Juliet was left with heart surging and breath quickening.
“Oh my, Patch. What a revelation. Could it be true? How could it be true? I wish I could just believe it wholeheartedly, but…”
But she was so afraid of the devastation of being wrong, that she did not want to believe it.
As she went to retrieve Patch, she caught sight of herself in the full-length mirror. She examined herself critically.
Skin too pale. It had the pallor of illness to her eyes. Birthmark, imitated by her Aunt Margaret, but a blemish by her own judgment. As was the star-shaped birthmark on her inner thigh. At least that was unlikely to be revealed to anyone.
One day, she had thought a husband might discover it. Then she had put such thoughts from her mind. Juliet did not want a husband doomed to be a widower. Except, she was hoping for just that state of affairs with Horatio. Wasn’t she? She could not contemplate the idea of Horatio grieving for her, but neither could she resign herself to never seeing him again.
“No, Patch. I will not live in limbo like this. Wondering what is going to happen and what might be in the future. I must know. For better or worse.”
Before she could think further on it and frighten herself into immobility, she strode from her rooms.
She did not know the geography of the castle, or where Horatio might be found. Nor did she want to ask a servant for directions to his rooms. That would make it seem as though she were seeking out his bedchamber and set tongues wagging. As though they were not wagging already. The entire household would know what had happened on the night of the ball and that she and Horatio had been swimming together naked. Not really naked, but the stories would have it so, once they had made the rounds of a few ears.
She slipped out of the guest wing of the castle, not wanting to risk an encounter with Aunt Margaret or Frances, too. Once she was away from their rooms, she began trying doors and hallways almost at random. When she did encounter a maid or a footman, she innocently asked for directions to the library and received them. After setting off in the direction indicated, she always then veered off once the servant was out of sight. The castle was large enough that she did not seem to bump into the same servant or the same rooms twice.
It was Aunt Margaret, or rather the need to avoid her, that eventually led to Juliet stumbling upon Horatio’s rooms. Or at least upon his study. She heard, around a corridor, the voices of Aunt Margaret and Frances. Juliet had stopped, standing stock-still in a passageway that intersected a long, windowless passage lit by lamps. They seemed to be in a corridor opposite, but just out of sight.
“ The man is infuriating ,” Frances was saying.
“ Patience, Frances. He is of the same mind as us. He will choose you over Juliet. I have a letter from Doctor Ingram of Harley Street. Once he reads it, his mind will be fully made up. Be assured of that, dear. ”
Juliet frowned. She did not know a Doctor Ingram but had a frightening feeling that she knew on what matter a physician would have been consulted by Aunt Margaret.
If she suspected that Juliet suffered the same ailment as her mother, then perhaps she had sought the opinion of a professional on that matter. And now sought to share that opinion with Horatio. And what might that opinion be? That the illness was contagious? That there was a risk that Horatio would contract it if in company with Juliet? Did Horatio already know this? Or at least suspect? Was that why he had been avoiding her for the past three days?
Juliet noted footsteps coming closer. She whirled to leave but heard more footsteps behind her. Not wanting to face anyone, servants or Aunt Margaret, she hastened for the long, empty passageway. The conversation between Aunt Margaret and Frances continued, but she did not comprehend the words. Lifting her skirts, she made for its far end. Reaching a door that was fortunately unlocked, she slipped inside and carefully closed it behind her. Then she stood for a long time, ear pressed against the ancient wood, listening. The sounds of footsteps and conversation died away. Silence fell. Juliet rested her forehead against the door, shutting her eyes.
“I should be happy,” she whispered. “Aunt Margaret is conspiring to match Horatio to Frances. I’m sure they will be very happy together. I will be left alone. That is what I want. That is all I want. To be left alone.”
She choked back tears. It was not all she wanted. All she wanted was the extraordinary man that she had met by accident and was now drawn to. Inexorably drawn to. She could not dispel from her memory the idea of the life she could have with him. A man who would not think her odd because she liked to help injured animals. He would probably not think it odd if she wished to study to become a veterinarian either. A handsome man who set her nerves tingling.
And he would have his own needs met by Frances. She would set his nerves tingling. She would kiss and touch him. Juliet felt a surge of jealousy. She spun around, hands clenched into fists at her side.
“It cannot be! It cannot be! I will die! I cannot have him!” she said over and over, trying to burn the words into her mind.
Then she saw the room in which she stood.
It was small and of an odd shape, with multiple sides at odd angles. Tall windows let in dim light. A single chair and table stood before a cold fireplace. Books littered the floor around the escritoire and chair and a portable bureau sat on the table. A cup sat next to the bureau, a teapot next to that.
Juliet approached the bureau, seeing the dregs of tea in the cup. The teapot was still warm. Her eyes went to a letter which lay upon the bureau, open. A sheet of paper sat next to it, with a quill and ink pot beside that. The words ‘ My Dear Jane’ had been written down, followed by a single drop of ink. As though the wet quill had hovered above the page, dripping ink, while the writer contemplated his next words.
That it was Horatio who had written the words was beyond doubt. She knew Aunt Margaret and Frances’ handwriting, and this was… different .
Her eyes went to the letter beside the one that Horatio had begun. It was addressed to him and signed Mrs. Jane Bonel . She looked away.
“It is not my business. I must not pry,” she murmured aloud.
But her eyes were drawn to that letter. A letter written by a woman whom Horatio addressed as ‘My Dear Jane.’ With trembling fingers, she picked up the paper, unable to resist.
‘ My dear Horatio,
I hope that I still have the right to call you that. It was how we addressed each other while we were betrothed.
As you may see from my signature, I am no longer Jane Ainsworth, but now bear the name Bonel. That was my husband. A kind and generous man of Carlisle, sadly passed and greatly missed. I have had a happy marriage with him and now find myself alone and thinking of what might have been.
I judged you on the word of a child. I should have trusted in the man I believed I loved. No, I must be honest. I did love, with all my heart. I was swept away by the circumstances. By the willingness of all present to believe the worst. I did not have the strength of character to stand up to them. Particularly my brother, Matthew. He had recently inherited after our father’s passing, as you know. And, as you also know, he has hated you since your school days together. He has never revealed to me the source of the enmity but its presence is undeniable. He forbade my marriage to you.
I did not tell you this at the time because I did not want to risk either of you calling out the other. He is my brother after all. What I now know is that when I defied his wishes and refused to break off our engagement, he formulated a wicked plan to incriminate you and drive us apart. He has not admitted it in so many words, but over the years, I have pieced it together. Lady Kimberley, whom you were accused of assaulting, was persuaded to lie. I believe the young girl who corroborated her story was part of the conspiracy. In fact, I know that a reward was given by my brother to the Godwin family, so she must have been acting in concert with Lady Meredith.
The duel was supposed to result in your death. I don’t think Matthew expected Lord Marlingford to lose. It is terrible for a sister to admit, but I believe the truth must come out. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me. If you are ever in the north, I remain a resident of Carlisle and would receive you most gratefully.
Your once dearest, Jane Bonel’