Page 89 of The Belle of Belgrave Square

If she was lucky, he would take her in his arms and hold her as he had in those moments before they’d sat down to dine. A crushing, all-consuming embrace. It had made her feel so safe. So wanted.

It was a feeling she longed to repeat.

“There’s no hurry,” he said.

Her heart missed a beat. For an instant she thought he’d read her mind. Foolish. He was talking about her recovery. “There is,” she replied. “I don’t want the children to know I’ve been ill.”

“Why not?”

“Because I want to make a good first impression.” They were going to be her family now. She had a keen desire not to disappoint them. “I’d like them all to think well of me.”

“Julia . . .” The brush stilled on her hair. “If you’re expecting a warm welcome . . .”

She looked back at him once more. “Shouldn’t I be?”

Jasper’s scarred face was shadowed in the dim glow cast by the oil lamp on the bedside table. “I told you the children were wild. They can be quite a handful. Especially the boys.”

“Charlie and Alfred.” She recalled him mentioning their names at Lady Holland’s dinner. “Charlie’s twelve, didn’t you say?”

“He is. Alfred’s one year younger.”

She dipped her chin as he resumed brushing. “I don’t know much about boys that age. None of my friends have brothers except for Miss Hobhouse. And hers is older than her, not younger.”

“Boys aren’t so complicated. Not if you can overlook their surliness and bad manners.”

“How can they have bad manners with you as their father? I’d have thought you’d have molded them into perfect little soldiers.”

He huffed. “Hardly. My experiences in the Crimea carry no weight with Charlie and Alfred.”

“What about Daisy?”

“She’s wild, too, in her way.” Jasper patiently untangled a knot in Julia’s tresses before brushing it through. “All the children are in want of civilizing.”

Julia had a troubling thought. “You don’t expect me to civilize them, do you?”

A wry smile sounded in his voice. “You can but try.”

“I’d rather be a friend to them.”

“I hope you will be,” he said.

She gradually relaxed under his ministration, sighing with contentment as the brush moved over her hair. He had a stronger stroke than Mary. It was exceedingly pleasurable.

“You’re very good at this,” she observed.

“I’m glad you think so.”

“Have you done it before?”

“Often. I frequently assist in readying Daisy for bed or in helping her to dress in the morning. She’s not as fond of having her hair brushed as other ladies I’ve known.”

Her mind latched on to a single phrase. “Have there been others?”

He was silent.

“Have there?” she asked again.

He stopped brushing. It was answer enough.