Chapter 33
Iknow you are in there, Julia,” Henry called in as low a voice as he could manage. But still, the door did not open. Very well, she left him no choice.
He pulled out his cravat pin and unlocked the door.
She spun from her seat at the window, eyes accusatory. “I knew it!”
He replaced the pin and closed the door. “Knew what?”
“That you could pick a lock. Oh, but you had me fooled growing up. I often assumed Mrs. Graham was letting you into my room.”
“You must have had a poor opinion of that stalwart woman,” Henry said, striding over to her. “She would never aid me in tormenting you.”
“A good point.” She sighed. “You always did know the best way to get under my skin.”
“That is what brothers are for. And for royally bungling things.” He grabbed a chair and sat on it backwards, facing her. “Like now. I have pushed you into this, haven’t I? It will not do, Julia. I will find another way for us moving forward, without you having to sell your soul to Jennings.”
Her eyes slid away, out the window. “I made my choice. You are not at fault.”
“The devil I’m not. I know what I told you and what I pressured upon you.”
“And it’s never worked in the past. You know how stubborn I can be.”
That was true. He waited until she met his gaze. “Then tell me—no falsehoods—do you want to marry Jennings?”
She hesitated, and it was enough.
“Then you will not marry him.” He stood, and she rushed to her feet after him.
“I have to, Henry.”
“No. I will call him out. Your reputation will not suffer overmuch when the truth of his debauchery is known.”
She passed him, planting herself in the doorway, her hands on hips.
“You look like our nurse when you do that,” he said, nodding to her stance.
“Good, then maybe you will listen to me.”
He threw up his hands. “This is marriage, Julia. Not something to be taken lightly. You will be stuck with him the rest of your life. And stubborn as you are, I doubt you’ll die a day before a hundred.”
“He might pass long before that, though.”
Henry cocked his head. “Is that a threat?”
“Not to you.” Her lips quivered, holding back a smile.
He sighed, fighting his own smile, which was a miracle in itself, since inside, he felt his heart was withering up and dying.
But he’d cordoned off that part of himself.
He had to, to focus on Julia and the danger on the island.
These were the things he could control. Not him and Alice.
“I just don’t understand, Julia. What are you not telling me? ”
Her eyes shifted to the left, her lips catching between her teeth.
“There is something!” he declared, pointing at her. “Tell me, Julia.”
She looked heavenward for what felt like a long moment. “I have a job, Henry.”
“You what?”
“I have a job. I write for The Morning Post.”
He reeled back, eyebrows up. “Oh. That is . . . well, that is rather impressive, Julia.”
She nodded, a crisp nod. “I write under a pseudonym. I have been doing so for several years now, and I quite love it.” She waved that all away as if it were unimportant. “But that is not the point. The point is, Jennings is terrible.”
Henry was still attempting to process the fact that his sister had had a job for years now. Years. Though at this point, he shouldn’t be surprised at his own ignorance. He was obtuse at best where Julia was concerned.
She continued. “He has had no less than three mistresses, did you know?”
Henry’s brows rose. “I am sorry, what?”
“Mmm-hmm. Well, that is if you can have a mistress without having a wife.”
He stared. “Julia, what sort of writer are you?”
She crossed to her writing desk, her lip caught between her teeth. “I am a contributor. For society papers.” She ran her finger across the wood. “Fashionable news.”
Henry blinked at her. “You write for the slander sheets?”
She grimaced, hand dropping to her side. “Essentially. But only about the men that deserve it.”
“This is because of Hargreave, isn’t it?”
Her look was steely; they’d not spoken the man’s name aloud since her engagement had been broken.
“Yes, he pretended to love me but it was all a lie; he was danging after light skirts. He did not jilt me, but I him. Though he turned that around well enough, thanks to his more impressive standing in society. But I determined to keep other women from falling into the same sort of trap. I write on the dark side of men’s personalities so women are well informed as to who they are courting—or marrying. ”
He blew out a breath, eyes wide. “Well, why are you marrying Jennings? Why agree when you know what sort of man he is?”
She crossed her arms. “I’ve lost my job. Or near to.”
He was getting whiplash from this conversation, but she hurried on, finishing the explanation.
“That first week we were here, Lord Jennings made his interest in me clear. So I began digging into his past and was unimpressed with what I found. As is my job, I wrote on him last week, and evidently, his mother receives that paper. She sent it to her son, who knew that particular details were divulged to me alone, evidently.”
“He told you about his affairs?”
“No, not exactly. Just stories about women he hadn’t cared for half as much as you, Julia, and things I might have asked about.
Besides, I have friends in low places, and they always know a great deal.
A few letters, and I had a good grasp on his character.
It was sloppy work, but I have never had to correspond over such distance, and I admit to being a little less circumspect in my desire to get my article in quickly.
Jennings has discovered it and has informed me that he will not reveal my participation in the column if I marry him. I was arguing that when he kissed me.”
“The man is blackmailing you!”
Again, she grimaced. “Yes. I hardly know why. It is not as if I am the prettiest or wealthiest woman here.” At that she scoffed. “But I have written on a great deal of men—some powerful and high ranking. I cannot have my identity divulged.”
Henry pushed a hand through his hair. “Blast.”
“Yes.”
His eyes cut to hers. “You cannot marry him.”
“I do not particularly wish to.”
“Then we have to convince him to end the engagement—somehow.”
“Impossible,” she said, flat disagreement readily apparent.
“No, there must be something. Some reason, beyond your winning personality, of course, for him to single you out so quickly.” He paused, something entirely unrelated occurring to him. “Julia. Did you dig into the past of more of the island’s inhabitants than just Jennings?”
She looked down.
Excitement surged. “I am not judging in the least, Julia. Only . . . I need your help.”