The Earl Takes All (16 page)

Chapter 16

My dearest darling,

How I wish you were here to enjoy this adventure with us. Edward is quite the tyrant, constantly pushing us forward. He seems to be in his element, thriving on his role as leader of our little expedition. He does not drink as much. I have yet to see him inebriated. Perhaps it is because he is at home here. Or maybe it is that he is fully aware that once our stores of liquor are depleted there is no more to be had within these jungles. If the latter is the case, he is showing remarkable restraint.

Although we have made many journeys together and he has always ordered people about, I don't know why it is that this time I am appreciating the manner in which he takes charge. Watching him, I cannot help but believe that he is better suited to being the earl than I. I have always found being responsible for others a chore, while he revels in it. It seems to me that something more than exiting the womb first should determine who inherits a title.

C
losing
her husband's journal, Julia set it carefully in her lap and gazed out her bedchamber window. She was a dozen days into their journey. She didn't want to read about how Edward made him laugh, or taught him how to prevent blisters, or ensured they were served proper tea in the teeming wilds. She wanted to read about how much Albert missed her. She wanted to read a passage that said, “I had a premonition last night. I want you to forgive Edward for what I am going to ask him to do. Know I do it out of love for you and our unborn child.”

But as of yet, she discovered no such revelation. He'd penned no words of comfort, no words to confirm that he had known he would die. No final words reaffirming his love for her, no parting message, no tender goodbye. Everything was inconsequential, nothing of import. It was as though he had fully expected to write in his journal a thousand more times.

While she dearly wanted to read the final entry, she refused to read the entries out of order. She wanted to experience his last few weeks as he had lived them. While she had never had any interest in traveling, she suddenly found herself wishing that she had been at his side the entire time he'd been away, as though her presence would have been enough to prevent the horribleness of what had transpired.

She was a widow, had been one in truth for more than four months. Yet time with Edward had tempered her sorrow. She thought she might hate him for that most of all. When she should be thinking about her husband she was thinking about his brother. The way he had made her laugh, the way he had held her, how he hadn't left her side as she had brought her daughter into the world. The admission that he had fallen in love with her.

If he truly loved her, how could he have allowed her to live a lie, how could he have withheld the truth? Perhaps she could forgive him for the weeks before Alberta's birth, but the ones after—­

The rap on the door barely caused her to stir. “Enter.”

Torrie cautiously strolled in, looking somewhat wary, and handed her a note. “From his lordship.”

Julia took it, unfolded it, read the words inscribed in his neat, precise script, almost identical to Albert's but not quite. Now she found herself searching for the most mundane differences between the brothers, swearing beneath her breath each time she noted one, wondering how she'd missed it before.

I shall be in the nursery from two until half past.

—­Greyling

She wasn't surprised. He'd had the same message delivered every day for the past week. And she knew that he knew she couldn't deny him visiting Lady Alberta without causing speculation and gossip among the servants as to the reason she would not allow the child's
father
to spend time with her. While staff was not supposed to blather about what went on upstairs, Julia wasn't fool enough to think they held everything they observed to themselves. With a harsh unladylike curse, she'd torn the first note into tiny shreds. She'd ripped the second in half. Balled up the third. Did little more than sigh and refold all the others.

At least he forewarned her about his intentions so she wouldn't cross paths with him in the hallway or the nursery and have to endure seeing him.

“Would you like me to deliver a message to him?” Torrie asked.

Go to the devil
was probably not what her maid had in mind. “No. Let Nanny know that she should prepare Lady Alberta for the earl's two o'clock visit.”

“Yes, m'lady. Shall I press a gown for you to wear to dinner?”

That question had also become part of her daily ritual. “No. Have dinner brought to my room.”

“Yes, m'lady.” She heard the disappointment and sorrow in Torrie's voice. Her maid knew something was wrong. The entire staff no doubt knew something was wrong. They simply couldn't imagine what it could be. Why would they—­why would anyone—­suspect the truth when it was preposterous and unfathomable?

“It's not the nanny, m'lady,” Torrie suddenly blurted.

Julia looked at the young woman who was rubbing one hand over the other as though apprehensive she'd said something she shouldn't. “I beg your pardon?”

“Everyone knows he goes to the nursery each afternoon. The scullery maid, she's a bit dimwitted, she said he fancies the nanny and that's why he goes, that no father takes that much interest in a baby. But he sends the nanny down to the kitchen for a cuppa when he's in the nursery. He's just spending time with Lady Alberta. He's not being unfaithful to you.”

She'd never considered that he would be; perhaps she should have. He was a young, virile man—­

What was she thinking? He owed her no faithfulness. Why did that thought bother her? What did she care who he might bed? She looked back out the window. She did wish spring would arrive, that the weather would warm, that she could go riding.

“He likes to go into your relaxing room.”

Into the room where she worked with her watercolors. She'd once told Torrie that it relaxed her, and the maid had taken to calling it her relaxing room. And now she was offering up this tidbit as though that would somehow redeem him in Julia's eyes when the poor woman didn't even know what he needed redemption for. “When?”

“Different times, but at least once a day.”

Was he hoping to find her there, stumble across her? Well, she wasn't going to allow it. Julia surged to her feet. She would have her maid deliver a missive instructing Edward to stay out of her room—­

Only it was no longer hers. It was his. The entire residence was his, every room, every painting, every knickknack, every bauble, every statue. She couldn't order him about. He would simply laugh. She was here by his good graces. Everything he gave her was only because he deemed it worth her having. She sank back into her chair. Suddenly she desperately wanted to watercolor. Since she'd learned the truth of her widowhood, she'd only left her bedchamber to visit the mausoleum and Alberta. The remainder of the time she'd remained in seclusion, grieving a loss that often made it difficult to even consider climbing out of bed. Now there was a chance she would run into him in her sanctuary, if she should decide to go there. How easily he took things from her.

“Thank you, Torrie. You may go.”

“Wish I knew why you were so sad, m'lady.”

She offered her maid a solemn smile. “I discovered the earl was not who I thought he was.”

Honest, but cryptic. The words no doubt failed to satisfy the young woman's curiosity, but they did cause her to make a hasty retreat. Julia rose and walked to the cheval glass and studied her reflection. The black made her appear so somber. The staff probably wondered at her change in attire. She'd seldom dressed in mourning when it was Edward supposedly in the mausoleum, but now she wore only black. Thank goodness she did not have to explain her actions to the servants. It was difficult enough to explain them to herself, especially when the clock on the mantel neared the stroke of two and she pressed her ear to the door.

He was always so punctual. She didn't know why she had this insane urge to listen for his footsteps. They were muffled by the carpet but still she heard them, marking off his long strides. They went silent, and she knew he had stopped right outside her door. He always did. It was madness to think that she could feel his gaze on the wood, hear his breathing. Madness to believe his scent somehow permeated the room to tease her nostrils.

Not wanting him to know she was there, she held her breath, and yet she feared that he did know, that he was as aware of her on this side of the door as she was of him on the other. She wondered if he was tempted to knock, to call out to her, to flatten his palm against the wood—­in the same spot where her own hand rested.

She heard the unmistakable sound of him carrying on, his steps brisk and quick. Releasing her breath on a little shudder, she pressed her forehead to the door and waited. Waited until she heard the rapid click of the nanny going down the back stairs. Yes, she knew the nanny always left.

Slowly, carefully, she opened the door, peered out into the empty hallway. With far more confidence than she felt, she straightened her shoulders and stepped out. After glancing around once more, she lifted the hem of her skirt and crept on bare feet down the carpeted hallway to the nursery. The door was open. It always remained open.

She got as close to it as she could without being seen and pressed her back to the wall. The creak of the rocking chair wafted through the doorway, and she envisioned him holding her daughter cradled in his arms as he swayed back and forth. She closed her eyes and listened.

T
he
half hour that Edward spent with Allie in his arms was his favorite time of the day, and not just because his niece blinked up at him with such big blue eyes. Her mother's blue eyes. But because he had her mother's attention as well. He could see a quarter of an inch of black skirt creeping past the doorjamb, and he knew before he was done it would be a full inch as Julia leaned closer to the threshold in order to hear him. It wasn't until the third day that he'd noticed the edge of her gown. Until then he'd given all his attention to Allie, but on that particular afternoon she'd fallen asleep. He'd looked up, seen the bombazine, and continued waxing on.

“Let's see, Allie, where were we?” He was so tempted to call out and ask Julia where he had ended yesterday's tale, but he knew her well enough to know that she wouldn't appreciate the teasing. She would no doubt cease her scurrying down the hallway to secretly join them as he wove his story. That she was there gave him hope that perhaps at some point they could at least get on civilly. They needed to, for Allie's sake.

“Ah, yes, the great and magnificent steed that oversees all the animals has discovered that trouble is afoot. I think we should give him a name. Shall we call him Greymane, the Grey in honor of your father? I think he'd like that. Badger, who is in fact a badger and wears a green waistcoat, is telling Greymane that he saw Stinker the Weasel, with his beady eyes and his sharp jagged teeth and his long pointy nose, lurking about behind the trees. They think he's up to no good, planning to ruin the picnic that Princess Allie is planning to have for all her forest friends in the clearing with the yellow wildflowers.”

He continued to weave the story of the beautiful princess and her noble friends. And the jealous and selfish weasel that wanted to ruin everything. Rocking, he talked until an inch of black skirt became visible. He did wish it was red, blue, or green. But she was truly in mourning now, fully aware that she was a widow.

Each morning, an hour before dawn, unknown to her, he quietly followed her as she made her way to the mausoleum. Hidden within the trees, he would stand guard. By the time she headed back, the sky was lighting to a pale blue so he couldn't follow her as closely. At least she was making the trek when the servants were too busy to notice. It might make them wonder why she was suddenly devoted to early morning walks and time spent within the family's resting place.

Other than that, he only caught a glimpse of her skirt when he rocked Allie. He was more the fool for taking pleasure in a scrap of cloth simply because it belonged to her. He continued to eat alone, to sit in his library alone, to play billiards alone. In the late hours of the night when sleep eluded him, he worked on the story he was writing for Allie about whimsical creatures that wore clothes, spoke, and behaved in a manner that very much resembled humans.

Looking down on her now, asleep in his arms, he knew he would write her an entire bookshelf of stories. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the skirt disappear. Three seconds later he heard the rapid tapping of the nanny's shoes as she entered the corridor just beyond the door.

Standing, he carried Allie to her crib and carefully set her down in it. She opened her eyes wide, waved her arms and feet. “See you tomorrow, little one.”

With a final word to the nanny, he walked into the hallway. Julia's scent was stronger now. Like a desperate man, he inhaled deeply, taking his fill. He carried on until he reached her door. Halting, he placed his hand on the wood. He didn't know why it made him feel closer to her. It was a silly, stupid thing to do, yet he couldn't seem to stop himself.

Then he headed down the stairs into the lonely emptiness that was now his life.

H
er
heart thundering, Julia awoke to crying. For a moment she thought perhaps her own sobbing had disturbed her sleep, because her cheeks were damp and now there was only silence so it must have been her crying out that brought her from the depths of slumber.

Laying there in the dark, in the quiet, she stared at the canopy, striving to determine what was amiss. During the past week, she'd slept fitfully. She was tired of the sorrow, the ache in her chest that felt like a physical bruising, the doubts, the guilt. Tonight she'd had enough and gone to the bedchamber previously designated for Edward and taken a bottle of brandy from the little cabinet where he kept spirits. She'd sipped until she was barely able to keep her eyes open. Then she'd clambered into bed and succumbed to the allure of welcome oblivion.