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The clock struck twelve before Will could finally make his way upstairs and along the gallery to his room. The last guests had gone. The little crisis with the trace on the vicar’s carriage snapping had been dealt with by sending them home in his own vehicle. The servants had been thanked and the house was secure. Now there was nothing between him and the confrontation with his wife and the consequences of his own actions.
Nancy passed him, her arms full of linens. ‘Her ladyship’s retired for the night, my lord. She’s not feeling quite herself, you understand.’
For a hideous moment he thought Julia had confided in her maid, then he saw there was no accusation in Nancy’s expression, only mild concern. Julia must have said she was suffering from a headache.
‘Thank you. Goodnight.’ He went into his own room and endured Jervis’s punctilious attentions for twenty minutes until finally, mercifully, alone he went and listened at the jib door between their dressing rooms. Nothing. He opened it, half-surprised to find it unlocked, and went through. The door into her room was unlocked too. Will tapped and entered.
‘Julia?’
She was sitting up in bed, her hair in its night-time plait on her shoulder. ‘Come in.’
Will had not known what to expect. Reproaches, certainly. Tears, probably. Accusations, of course. Even, although he had never seen Julia lose her temper, things thrown at his head. He deserved the lot, especially after the scene he had created when he found her with Henry. What he had not expected from his wife was calm.
‘I am sorry,’ he said, knowing it was insufficient but that it had to be said. ‘That should never have happened. I had no intention that it should.’
‘But Miss Fletcher waylaid you, threw herself on your chest and sob
bed?’
That was exactly what had happened. Caroline had followed him when he went out to fetch a book he thought the vicar would be interested in and the next thing he knew he was in the library with the door shut and feeling more confused than he could ever remember. Short of violence he had no idea how to detach her and he had absolutely no experience in dealing with a sobbing woman. He shoved all the explanations away and said, ‘I cannot lay the blame on Caroline.’
‘It was inevitable, I suppose, given her refined sensibilities,’ Julia remarked as though he had not spoken. ‘Will, I do not blame you for embracing her, I just wish it had not happened where it would have been so easy for you to have been discovered.’
‘You do not mind?’ He stared at her, his mind going back, as it so often did, to the day he had found her in the chapel. After that rough, impulsive coupling she had slipped from the bed cool, collected, distant. She had been through an emotional storm in the church and the laughter, the passion afterwards, had been a reaction to that, he supposed. And when she had come to herself she had been disgusted with his crude lovemaking and his lack of tact in mentioning Caroline minutes later—he had seen it in her reserve, the way she had distanced herself from him emotionally and physically.
He had been very careful with her ever since, even after the scene with Henry when he had wanted to find the comfort and forgiveness in their lovemaking that he could not bring himself to ask for in words.
But this? It seemed as though Julia was not even remotely jealous, simply annoyed that he had risked a scandal. But what did he expect? Their marriage had been a sham from the start, there had not even been acquaintanceship to precede it. He had made no bones about his reasons for marriage, she had been betrayed and discarded by a lover she had given up everything for. So why then, when he could perfectly understand her indifference, was it so painful now?
‘I am not in love with Caroline,’ he said.
‘You do not have to tell me whether you are or not. It is not my business. And I do not believe that you would do anything…dishonourable.’ Julia studied her hands as they lay on the lace edge of the sheet. She was twisting her wedding ring round and round her finger.
‘But I am glad if you are not breaking your heart over her, because I do not think she is worth it. She is very lovely, but there is far less to her than meets the eye.’ She laughed, a small, breathy sound. ‘Listen to me! That was a catty remark if ever I heard one.’
‘I think you are entitled to be as catty as you wish, Julia,’ Will said. His chest hurt with guilt and tension and something else that he did not recognize, but which was damnably uncomfortable. ‘It is unfair that you should be made in any way distressed. I promise that I did not seek a meeting alone with her and that all I did was to try to comfort her.’
He sat on the edge of the bed and reached for her hand—for the reassurance of touch, to still that endlessly turning ring, because he wanted to hold her. Because, surely, he had hurt her.
‘I am sorry, Will.’ Both hands vanished under the lace. ‘I am not… Tonight I cannot…’ He stared back, appalled that she should think him so crass as to try to make love to her moments after they had been confronting his indiscretion with another woman. Julia cleared her throat, her cheeks pink, her gaze still firmly fixed on the sheets. ‘I mean my courses have started.’
It took him a moment to realise what she was talking about. Then it dawned on him that was what Nancy had hinted when he had passed her just now. Probably, Not feeling quite herself was code a husband was expected to understand.
‘Of course.’ He couldn’t even begin to explain why he had reached for her, what he wanted. How could he? He had no idea himself. Will stood up. ‘You are tired, I won’t keep you awake any longer. That was a fine dinner party, thank you. Goodnight, Julia.’
‘Goodnight, Will.’
He closed the dressing-room door and leaned back against it to steady himself. It was as though a gulf had just opened up in front of his feet and he was hanging, dizzy, over it. What the devil had he thought this marriage was about? He had come home intent on seizing back his old life, taking control of King’s Acre, putting his convenient marriage firmly into its rightful place. He had been confronted by the evidence of Julia’s heartbreak and loss and he had seen everything through the lens of himself and his feelings.
With a muttered curse Will pushed away from the door and went through to his bedchamber. It had all seemed to be going perfectly well. He had acknowledged the child and, by doing so, tied himself to Julia. She had, after some resistance, come to his bed and now she seemed to enjoy his lovemaking. And he had thought that was all there was to it! Marry: tick that off the list. Sire an heir: working on it. But, be happy? Make Julia happy? Were those on the list too?
What did she want? Not, apparently, him, or not enough to be distressed when she caught him with his arms around another woman. Arrogant devil, he told himself as he threw off his dressing gown and lay down. You expected her to be jealous, you wanted her to be jealous. Why should she be? She isn’t in love with you and there isn’t one reason why she should be. But your pride is hurt because of it, just as it was hurt when you found her comforting Henry.
He punched the pillows, snuffed the candles and lay staring up at the underside of the bed canopy, lost in the dark. He had got what he needed: an attractive, intelligent, socially adept and unbelievably forgiving wife. So why, then, did he still feel that pain in his chest?
*
‘The horses are here!’ Will burst into the bedchamber like a strong gust of wind. Nancy gave a squeak and dropped the hairbrush. It took Julia a moment to take in what he had said, she was so surprised to see him there. Ten days after the dinner party he had not returned to her bed and it was proving remarkably awkward to find the words to ask why not. Was it guilt keeping him away or did he simply not want her any more? But he wanted an heir and he had never seemed to find her repellent…
