Читать книгу The Worthington Wife - Sharon Page - Страница 8
ОглавлениеTwo Proposals of Marriage
Julia stormed back toward the drawing room.
How could she have felt a sudden, dizzying whoosh for that man?
The whoosh had been something she’d experienced with Anthony—that sudden feeling of the world stopping on its trajectory, while she looked into his eyes as if for the very first time.
She’d felt it with Dougal Campbell within minutes of meeting him. It had been when he had begun to describe the surgery he had performed to repair a child’s leg and save it from amputation. Her head had swum a little at the thought of an operation, but she had fallen in love with him right then, right there, because he had been so passionate about what he’d done.
Dougal—well, she’d lost Dougal forever now. He was marrying the daughter of a doctor, a girl who would make the perfect doctor’s wife. She was happy for him—he deserved the perfect wife.
But after caring so deeply for Dougal, how could she have had that devastating moment of—of something with Cal?
He actually thought he could kiss her after what he’d threatened to do to Worthington. Well, really! And she now knew why she had been riveted to the spot, unable to move. She had been shocked. That was all.
The man was infuriating. Not because he was angry and hurting—she could understand that, if his family had been rejected by the previous earl. His father had been disowned after all.
No, he was infuriating because his mind was closed. This was the modern world—every breath you took was full of change. He must let the past go.
Destroying something never fixed anything. Heaping on more pain never made pain go away. She was certain of it. Healing was the most important thing in the world. Zoe had healed Nigel, helping him finally escape the way the War had hurt him. Her mother needed to heal more from the grief of losing Will—if Mother could, she could be happier.
Julia knew the power of healing. She had to make Cal see it.
“Julia.”
She almost collided with the Duke of Bradstock as he stepped out of the shadows.
Frowning, he looked down at her. “You were outside with that American, Julia. I saw him follow you out onto the terrace. Did you invite him out there?” he demanded.
James had followed her. Why? Because Cal had?
“I went out on the terrace for some air,” she said. “Then the new earl joined me.”
“So he just followed you.” James grasped her wrist and held it in the circle of his long, strong fingers, capturing her. He peered at her face in the darkness of the corridor—only two electric lights illuminated it. “You look upset. Did he try to force himself on you? Tell me and I’ll grind him under my heel like the piece of dirt he is.”
Most girls thought the Duke of Bradstock was more handsome than any movie star in the pictures. His features were striking and autocratic; his hair raven black, his eyes dark green and surrounded by thick, long lashes. He had a wicked allure, like Valentino.
Grandmama believed he was interested in Julia, since he had never married after he returned from the War. Grandmama’s words haunted her: you could be a duchess with one simple word.
James was looking at her...as if he would slay a dragon if she asked.
For some reason, she did not feel like a heroine who wished to swoon into the muscular arms of a sheikh-costumed Valentino. She was angry with Cal, but she would not insult him. “He is not a piece of dirt—he is the Earl of Worthington, and we are in his house, James. It is most impolite to be rude. And we simply spoke out on the terrace. Worthington was the perfect gentleman.”
“Was he? You were trembling when you came back inside.”
“It was cold outdoors.”
“I saw his face when he was looking at the countess across the dinner table. Pure hatred. What reason does he have to hate them?”
“That is the mystery, isn’t it? I don’t know. But I really must find out, if I am to fix this problem and put a stop to Cal’s plans.”
“Cal? You call him Cal? What plans?”
“He objects to Worthington,” she said, not quite answering his questions.
“My God, Julia, you can’t approve of this upstart and his lack of manners and breeding?”
What an odd question. She should disapprove of Cal—of everything he intended to do and the way in which he meant to do it. But she knew about grief and pain, how viciously it could hurt.
James moved closer. Suddenly, he clasped her hand in both of his large ones. “Julia—” His voice was husky. “Julia, you must know how I feel about you.”
Oh...oh heavens. Grandmama was always right. It was an idiotic thought, but the very first one that leaped into her mind.
“I had no choice but to let you go to Anthony Carstairs,” he continued. “You were so fond of him, and he was a friend of mine. Then, after his death, I waited patiently. It has been nine years. Julia, I want to marry you. I must marry you.”
Oh heavens. She did not love this man. She’d known him since he was a boy and he had only ever been interested in one thing—himself. And if she were his wife, she could never do anything unless he gave her permission. That was the kind of marriage that existed decades ago. It was one she would never accept.
Grandmama would faint when she learned what her granddaughter was going to do. Gently Julia said, “James, I am so very flattered by your proposal. I am so sorry you’ve waited for so long—”
“Don’t go on,” he said brusquely. “There is no need.” He released her hand and stepped back. His face became a hard, emotionless mask. “But I would like to know why.”
“It is not you. Truly, it isn’t. I just—I just am filled with thoughts of Anthony still.” But there had been Dougal, so she knew her heart could be touched. Just not by this man.
“Even after this long? Julia, I would treat you like a queen. You would reign over my four estates. I still have a considerable income. My God, Julia, I dream of you every night.”
He grasped her wrist again, this time hard enough that she winced.
“James, you are hurting me.”
“I’m sorry.” He released her. “I’ve been a damned fool, haven’t I?” he said harshly. “Hoping you might realize how much I want you to be my duchess.”
He looked at her with such hurt she felt guilty. But she’d never asked him to hope or wait. Never once had she been anything beyond polite and proper.
But this was going to turn messy and emotional and unpleasant, and all her training leaped to the fore. “Dear James, any woman would jump at your proposal. But you deserve a woman who can give you her entire heart. I can’t.”
“But if you could—” He left the sentence hanging.
What did she do? Lie? It was the ladylike thing to do. One simple statement had her facing the most stunning truth—did she want to be a lady and lie, or did she want to be bold and brave and tell the truth? “If I could...well, things would be quite different, I assure you.”
That was a lady’s response. It didn’t insult and it said absolutely nothing. She felt rather guilty giving it. But her heart told her it was for the best.
“Julia, I can’t wait any longer.”
“I don’t want you to wait, James. Please, do find someone else and be happy.”
He straightened his dinner jacket. “I bid you good-night then.”
He was gone.
Julia let out a deep, relieved breath.
Then she heard a soft movement. Smoke drifted out from the doorway of the music room. She suspected Cal was in there. He must have come in from the terrace and heard everything. She stalked to the door. Cal was leaning against the fireplace mantel.
He looked up as she walked in. “Why did you refuse him?”
Julia felt her cheeks get hot. “That is none of your business.”
“He’s a duke, isn’t it? Your family’s gonna be disappointed.”
“My family accepts that I will marry only for love.”
“That’s what you want? Love? Love can destroy you, you know. It can hurt you like nothing else can.”
And he had been hurt. Very badly. By the loss of his parents? Or by something else? “I know that,” she said softly. “I lost my fiancé. I know how much it can hurt to love someone and lose them.”
“Do you think it’s worth it?” he said suddenly.
“Of course it is.”
“I disagree.”
“Tell me why your heart is so badly broken,” she said impulsively.
But he only grinned. “Angel, I have no heart to break.” He threw the stub of his cigarette into the fireplace grate and, this time, he walked away from her.
Of course, it was because he was running away from her question.
* * *
In the kitchen of Worthington Park, early in the morning, Hannah Talbot let out a huffing breath as she lifted the porridge dish. This was the plain one, the one used for the servants’ dinners and not one of the large gleaming silver dishes that was kept under lock and key. That one she never had to clean. As kitchen maid, she was too lowly. The butler, Mr. Wiggins, and the footmen tended to the silver.
With Tansy, the new girl, pretending to be sick this morning, Hannah had done the work of two maids. Her arms ached from polishing the range until it shone like a mirror. She’d had to lay the fires in all the rooms, make the morning tea, as well as stir three pots of sauce at once, since Tansy wasn’t there to do any of it.
And she’d had to do it perfectly. With the new earl arriving, Mrs. Feathers, the cook, was in a state. She’d snapped at Hannah for making mistakes when Hannah had been doing the work of two women at once!
Then, while rushing through laying the fires, Hannah had gone to check on Tansy, only to find their room empty!
Tansy wasn’t sick at all. She’d gone sneaking off somewhere.
Hannah could have told Mrs. Feathers. But maybe there had been an emergency and Tansy had been too afraid to ask if she could have the morning off. Tansy had a large family and there was always someone sick or having a baby. Hannah had no family anymore. While Tansy complained about having a huge family who were always telling her what to do, Hannah envied her.
The other servants were already seated at the table as she hefted the pot into the servants’ dining hall and set it on the table. Mrs. Feathers waited with the ladle and porcelain bowls. “What were you doing, girl? Harvesting the grain yourself?”
“I’m sorry,” Hannah set the pot down as carefully as she could.
The maids and footmen, the valet, her ladyship’s lady’s maid, the daughters’ lady’s maid, the housekeeper and Mr. Wiggins sat around the table with their tea or coffee before them. Hannah always had to make tea for everyone else—it was hours after she awoke that she got anything. She was dying for a cuppa, but she had to fetch the other food first.
Finally she was able to slip into the only empty chair with a cup of tea for herself, just as Amy, the new parlor maid who came from London, asked, “What did ye think of him?”
“Who?” Stephen, the senior footman asked.
Hannah’s heart gave a little flip-flop in her chest. Stephen had a delicious voice. And he was handsome enough to be a film star, she was sure.
“Rudolph Valentino,” Amy said pertly. “His lordship, of course. The new earl.”
“He’s handsome,” Miss White said. Pale and red-haired, she was lady’s maid to Ladies Diana, Cassia and Thalia.
“Did you see what he was wearing when he arrived last night? My brother works on a farm and he’s better dressed.”
“That will be enough, Amy,” warned Mrs. Rumpole, Worthington’s housekeeper. She always wore a long black dress, and her graying hair was pulled back severely. The maids were terrified of her; Hannah was terrified of Mrs. Feathers, the cook.
“He’s got no man of his own,” said Mr. St. Germaine, the valet. “So it looks like I’ll be dressing him. It’s like trying to mold a diamond out of an unformed lump of coal.”
Amy giggled at that, flashing her dark eyes at the valet, who was dapper and good-looking, but was apparently quite old because he never looked at the women, not even the young and pretty ones like Amy.
All the maids started talking about the new earl and what they thought of him. Then one asked her, “What do you think of him, Hannah?”
Her cheeks got hot. “I didn’t see him. I didn’t get lined up for him.” She never was presented with the rest of the staff. And the new earl had shown up much later than expected—he’d telephoned to say he would be late. When Mr. Wiggins told him the staff would be presented to him and that the “lineup,” as she called it, would delay dinner, the new earl had insisted they not do it. Mr. Wiggins had put it off until this morning.
“Hannah doesn’t have time to think about anything but her work,” said Mrs. Feathers sharply. “She has to get her breakfast finished. She’s got pots to wash. Then we’ve got to start on the food for luncheon and on the desserts for tonight’s dinner. And woe betide us if his lordship isn’t pleased with the meals. We’ll be out on our beam ends.”
Dutifully Hannah finished her porridge. She wished just for once she could relax over a meal and not have to run about like a chicken with her head cut off. But Mrs. Feathers had been unusually worried and snappish ever since the new earl arrived.
She truly wanted to see the new earl—she hated being the only servant here who hadn’t done so, due to her lowly rank. She’d hoped he might go into the study or the library while she was making the fires, so she could see him, but no such luck.
After breakfast, she had to plunge her sore hands into steaming hot water to clean the pots and dishes after breakfast. Then Tansy walked in.
“I was feeling much better, Mrs. Feathers, so I thought I would come and help.”
“How sweet of you to volunteer your services, Your Highness,” said the cook to Tansy. “One would never know that’s what you’re paid to do. Now hurry up and get to work. Hannah can’t handle this lot on her own.”
Hannah’s cheeks burned. She thought she was doing a magnificent job in coping. When Mrs. Feathers left them, she looked at Tansy, who wasn’t getting to work all that quickly. “Where were you? You weren’t in bed when I looked.”
Tansy, who had wavy black hair and huge blue eyes, paled. “Did you tell her?”
“No, but what happened to you?”
“I went for a drive, Hannah. My gentleman took me for a drive in his beautiful car.”
“In the morning?”
“It was the only time he could come, and I knew I could slip out if I said I were sick.”
“So you went alone with him in his car?”
Tansy gave a wicked smile. “I did. He drove us out to Lilac Farm and we parked under the trees. He kissed me!”
“Is that all he did?”
“He’s a gentleman. A real gentleman. He said he knows he can’t expect more unless he marries me. I can tell he wants me. He’s going to propose. He’s so much in love with me.”
Hannah sighed. “But he’s a gentleman and you’re a kitchen maid.”
“But I am pretty—I’m not being immodest. He says I could be a film star. And he’s got scads of money. He’s got that lovely motor car, and he’s been ever so generous with me. I don’t think he cares that I’m only a scullery maid.”
“All gentlemen care.”
“That’s not true. They do marry girls from trade.”
“That’s because those girls have enormous dowries.”
Tansy folded her arms over her chest. “Look at the new earl. If a man who was nobody can become an earl, I believe it is possible to better yourself.”
Hannah rolled her eyes. “He’s the earl because his father was the old earl’s brother, silly goose. Since girls can’t inherit, and you don’t have an earl in your family tree, you have no hope of joining those upstairs.”
“I will if I marry a gentleman. And the earl’s father married a maid—I heard the story.”
“That’s one story with a happy ending. Most of the time, gentlemen don’t marry the likes of us.”
“That they don’t!” Mrs. Feathers’s booming voice made both her and Tansy jump. “If I catch you flirting with any gentlemen, you’ll be out of here without a reference. I’ll not keep a girl around who’s determined to get herself into trouble! Now, stop your woolgathering, the both of you, because if your sauces are not more than a charred coating on the bottom of a pot, you’ll both be gone! And you’ll have my boot in your backsides to send you on your way.”
Tansy quickly grasped a spoon and stirred hurriedly.
Hannah stirred, too. She didn’t say a word but tears stung her eyes. She had not done a thing wrong. Not one thing. Tansy was the one who caused trouble, but her trouble always seemed to include Hannah.
The youngest footman, Eustace, burst in, out of breath. He ran right into the table and Hannah had to sweep her bowl into her arms to keep it safe.
“What demon is chasing you?” Mrs. Feathers demanded.
“His lordship is downstairs,” Eustace managed to gasp, between sucking in deep breaths. “Said he wants to talk to you, Mrs. Feathers.”
“For pity’s sake, what does he want? If he wants a proper dinner, he should be leaving me alone to get it ready.”
But for all Mrs. Feathers spoke in her usual sharp, impatient tones, Hannah saw she looked dreadfully worried.
* * *
At Brideswell Abbey, Julia went down to breakfast early. In the dining room, the warming dishes were out on the sideboard and the coffee urn was set up, but the room was empty.
She’d feared Nigel would be waiting, ready to propel the Earl of Summerhay at her. Or her mother would have heard, somehow, that she’d refused a duke, and would be ready to lecture her. Mother continually pointed out that one thing had not changed in the modern world—men still wanted young brides and Julia was going to end up on the shelf.
Julia filled her plate and carried it to the table, when a low, deep voice said, “G-good morning, Lady Julia.”
She turned and faced the Earl of Summerhay. Who wore riding clothes. And a slight blush.
“Good morning. I take it you are riding today? It’s the perfect day for it—not too hot yet,” she said brightly. Weather was the safest and most mundane of topics.
Last night, she had spoken to him a little at Worthington Park, and then at Brideswell, after they’d returned and before they had gone up to bed.
Nigel had tried to encourage him to talk about the heroic things he’d done in the War. But he had been very modest about all that. Nigel told her Summerhay had saved many men’s lives. He had captured a German machine gun nest single-handed. He was indeed a hero—a quiet and unassuming one.
She liked that about him.
But there hadn’t been any moment with him when the world had halted on its axis. She didn’t know why not—it simply hadn’t.
In fact, she had rejoined the group after James’s proposal. She had been talking to Summerhay when Cal had entered the drawing room. For a moment, she didn’t hear anything poor Summerhay was saying.
Of course, that was because she’d been afraid of what Cal was going to do. Mysteriously, he hadn’t done anything at all. He hadn’t caused a scene or made any threats. He had played the perfect host. And she couldn’t understand why—
“Yes, I’m going riding with Nigel,” Summerhay said. “Care to join us?”
He looked so hopeful, her heart ached. “I would have loved to, but I have commitments for the morning. I rode earlier.”
“I’m too late, then.” He looked rueful. “I’ve heard you’re a bally good rider. Nigel admits you’ve bested him at some fences. That’s high praise since he never likes to admit he’s been beaten.”
She smiled. “Marriage changed my brother quite a lot.” Then she could have bitten off her tongue. Talking about marriage was not a good idea.
“He’s a lucky man to have found such a lovely wife. I hope to be as fortunate.” Then suddenly, earnestly, he said, “Julia, I would like to see more of you. You are one of the most remarkable women I’ve ever met.”
Oh dear. She was not on the shelf yet apparently.
Summerhay was a nice and charming man. For one moment, she thought: This might be my last chance to marry. And he is a good man.
“Julia—?” He was brilliant red now, the Earl of Summerhay. “I know we have barely spent time together but I am hoping...hoping that when we know each other better, you might consider doing me the honor of... No, I’m sorry. It must be too early for that for you. But I know my own heart.”
Could love and desire grow? Did love have to be instantaneous?
But she thought of walking down the aisle and saying “I do” and not being in love with him. She couldn’t do it. And it would be wrong to do it to a hero.
“I do enjoy your company, but my charitable work is taking up almost all of my time.” That was too obviously an excuse. This man deserved honesty. For she could spend time with him, let him court her, but when she searched her heart, she didn’t want to. It was wrong to judge so quickly, but she thought of being courted and she wanted to...to run, really.
“The truth is, I had already given my heart to a doctor,” she explained, “but he has gone to London to work at a hospital. I know it takes me a long time to get over a lost love. I mean this as no slight against you. I am just not ready to move on.”
“But you will be—someday?”
“I don’t know,” she said truthfully. “And so I can’t ask you to wait.”
“I want to wait.”
“No, please. I can’t make you any promises, Summerhay.”
“I know that. If I wait, that’s on my conscience, not yours. It’s a chance I am willing to take.” He stood, bowed. “I should go and prepare for riding. Until later.”
Then he was gone.
She knew in her heart she had done the right thing. She wanted the whoosh. Even if it meant no marriage at all. Which meant she’d best be prepared to make a life without a wedding.
On the way out of the dining room, she encountered Zoe, who smiled and said, “I’ve decided that your plan to help your war widows is sound. You don’t need to worry about taking a loan against your dowry. We’ll be partners. I’ll provide the financial backing and business advice, you will work with the widows to help them create businesses that are suitable.”
She threw her arms around Zoe, who laughed. “I’ve never seen you look so bubbly, Julia.”
“I don’t know if I’ve ever been quite so happy. Except when you married Nigel. Good things will come of this, Zoe. I feel I am about to change the world.” Or at least her precious corner of it.
