Chapter Sixteen
“I promise,” Julia said wearily, “I will be absolutely fine.”
It was ridiculous. Why, she had lived in London all her life, knew the place like the back of her hand! There wasn’t a street she did not know.
Well. All the respectable streets, Julia felt she had no choice but to correct herself silently. Of course there were parts of London she did not know—but that was beside the point!
In her mother’s mind, however, it was clearly the point entirely.
“Anything could happen on these streets!” Mrs. Dryden said, waving a hand and almost immediately proving her point by whacking a gentleman in the ear as he attempted to pass them on the pavement. “Oh, I am sorry, my good man.”
Julia rolled her eyes. Why was her mother such a liability? Was it the same with all mothers, or was she saddled with a particularly—
“And there is no need to roll your eyes at me, young lady!” her mother said smartly. “I saw that!”
Of course she did. Julia had known from a young age that her mother would almost always catch those irritated glances she shot her way, but she did not have to point it out. In public.
“Really, I do not know what has got into you recently,” said her mother, tutting as she shifted a hat box in her encumbered hand. “You are…well. Forward, if you do not mind me saying so.”
Julia knew her mother said so based on scant evidence, but the trouble was, she was hardly on solid ground to defend herself.
Forward. Yes, that was an accurate description of her behavior the last few months.
Far too forward, in Donald’s opinion. But Julia could not regret her actions. How could she? Her boldness, her complete ignoring of the social rules and decorum at the Almonry Den had found her not just a companion, not just a man whose kisses threatened to stop her very heart one of these days…
But a husband.
A future husband. Julia glanced at her mother, fussing about her bonnet with her free hand, and bit her lip.
Deadline or no deadline, it was not the right time to inform her mother just what she had done—and agreed—with Lawrence Madgwick of Endell Street.
A smile crept across her face. Though she would have to tell her one day. She would have to plan the conversation to take place quietly in a dark room, where her mother’s hysterics would not be too injurious to their reputation.
“I said, I will be absolutely fine,” Julia repeated, seeing that her mother was assiduously ignoring her. “I know my way home, and I have no wish to traipse up and down with you searching for the perfect gloves—”
“I knew this would happen,” her mother said dramatically, eyes wide. “Lady Romeril warned me of it, but I told her no, my daughter will never abandon me—”
“I am not abandoning you, Mama,” Julia retorted, stepping to the side so a gaggle of ladies could rush past. “Really, if I knew you were going to take on so at the mere thought of me leaving your presence for half an hour, I wonder you are pushing me toward matrimony!”
It was the wrong thing to say.
Julia could see it, almost sense it, immediately. Matrimony. It was a topic she had carefully avoided over the last few days, after…
“You’ll really marry me? With nothing for me to offer you?”
“Are you not worth anything?”
Her cheeks flushed at the mere remembrance of such words.
She was engaged. Engaged to be married—a secret engagement! Lawrence had not needed to request her secrecy; it was an unspoken understanding between them.
How could she reveal to her family that she had promised herself not to a gentleman, nor to a wealthy man, nor even—heaven forbid—to a titled man. But a boxer…
“Matrimony is different,” her mother was saying imperiously. “Though I am glad you have finally brought up the topic. I am eager to discuss—”
“No, Mama,” Julia said heartily.
Just a few more days, then she would have the courage—nay, the conviction—to tell her family.
And not before.
Her mother glared. “Well, you cannot say I do not push sufficient gentlemen in your direction, it is not my fault if you—”
“And on that note, I will take my leave of you and return home,” Julia said swiftly, recognizing the beginning of one of her mother’s monologues. “I will see you later, Mama. Good afternoon.”
Bobbing a swift curtsey before her mother could say a word—an impressive feat, one which Julia had perfected over the years—she turned and started striding down the pavement, her skirts flapping in the early spring wind.
“Julia Dryden, you come back…”
Every step away from her mother lightened her heart. It would not be long, she was certain, and she and Lawrence could announce their love to their world. Their affection could not be contained forever, could it?
Julia hugged herself as the wind got up, memories tingling across her body of the lovemaking they had shared just days ago.
It was a shame that they had not found any additional time together. Parts of her ached for his touch, being away from him only increasing the longing.
They should discuss it soon. Perhaps over a pie, Julia thought happily, or while watching a boxing match. He had opened her eyes to such a world. How could she walk away from it? And thinking of walking…
Julia hesitated at the mouth of an alleyway. She did know London well, even if she had not walked down every street, and if she was not mistaken this would lead directly to Endell Street. Where Lawrence’s lodgings were.
Why, she may even be fortunate enough to find him there.
She shivered, anticipation tightening her chest. She was not expected home for a few hours, if her mother’s typical shopping trips were anything to go by. That would mean an hour or so alone with Lawrence.
She did not even have to think. Her footsteps took her forward into the dull gloom of the alley.
It did not take long for Julia to regret her decision.
In her mind, alleys in London were like veins, connecting the larger streets together. A hop, skip, and a jump, and she would be there.
She had not expected it to be such a long alley, nor so dark. There were a few women there, eager and expectant as she approached then disappointed as she appeared through the gloom.
“Penny, miss?”
Julia jumped, startled by the sudden appearance of a small child. What she had assumed was a heap of rags was a boy—or girl, it was hard to tell under the grime.
“I-I’m sorry,” she stammered, quickening her pace. “I really mustn’t—Lawrence!”
Julia’s breath was knocked from her lungs as she turned a corner in the alley and came across the most horrendous scene. She could never have imagined such a sight.
She blinked, the darkness blinding—but no. She saw true.
There stood Lawrence, tall, shoulders broad, hands clenched into fists that were covered in blood—and for a heart-stopping moment, she thought he was injured.
But from the scene before her, it was likely someone else’s. More specifically, the man who was lying on the ground at Lawrence’s feet, his hands up around his face trying to protect himself, crying out for mercy.
“No—please!”
Wham!
Julia gasped as Lawrence’s fist smacked hard into the man’s stomach. The stranger groaned, coughing up blood, and Lawrence pulled back his hand to inflict even more damage.
“Please, sir, what did I ever—”
“Lawrence!” Julia cried.
She could not help it—it was a scene of such violence, such horror, that his name was dragged from her lips.
Seeing Lawrence punch a man was not unusual; how many times had she seen such a thing at the Almonry Den?
Countless. Why, Julia thought wildly as Lawrence hesitated, his left hand grabbing the man so that he could not escape, she had even cheered him on.
Why was it that the same actions in a different location felt so wrong, so horrendous? How was it possible to encourage violence in the Almonry Den, yet abhor it here?
Lawrence blinked, rage in his eyes seemingly dimming his view. “J-Jules?”
Julia took a step backward, her foot slipping. She almost stumbled into the wall behind her, her fingers clutching at it as though it could support not just her body but her mind which was reeling.
The man tried to pull away, but Lawrence was stronger.
“Lawrence, what are you—”
The man groaned. Lawrence had hit him hard about the head. A terrible crunch echoed along the alley, and the man fell to the ground, motionless.
Julia could hardly breathe, her chest frozen, heart racing, everything in her telling her to run, run away from this maniac!
But it was Lawrence. How could she run from him?
How could she stay?
“Jules, what in God’s name are you doing here?” Lawrence spat a mouthful of what appeared to be blood before dragging the unconscious man toward her.
Julia whimpered in fear as he propped the man against the wall just beside her. What was happening? Where was the Lawrence she knew, the kind man, the man who fought in the ring for he had no other choice?
Was he just a thug?
“What am I—you are the one beating an innocent man to a pulp!”
Lawrence snorted, his eyes dark and his mood evidently grim. “Innocent man? Trust me, Jules, Mortimer got what was coming to him.”
Julia’s eyes flickered between the unstirring man—he could be dead for all she knew!—and the tall, handsome man before her.
How could she believe that? “What had he done to deserve such a beating?”
Was it her imagination, or would Lawrence not meet her eyes? “Never you mind.”
“Never you—I beg your pardon!”
It had not been Julia’s intention to sound imperious, but really! One could not simply go around metering out justice, if one could call it justice, merely because you had the biggest fists!
A strange pain was creeping through her lungs, and after a heartbeat’s consideration, Julia realized it was fear.
She was afraid of Lawrence.
“I can’t tell you about it now,” he was saying, dragging a weary hand through his unruly hair. “But I did the right thing.”
“The right…” Julia whispered, glancing at the motionless man. He was going to have a heavy bruise the next morning, that was clear. “You need to find a magistrate if you truly believe—”