The Abandoned Bride (8 page)

She did not have to leave for Paris in the morning, even Lady Cunningham had not really expected that, Miss Parkinson had said. “They always like to make impossible demands at the start, even the best of them,” that astute female had confided,
forgetting in her attempts to cheer Julia, that she ought not draw the lines between her wealthy patrons and her favored clients by calling the former “them,” somewhat scornfully, as she always did when she was alone with her sister.

“That way, when you can’t go along with them, as they know you can’t, they think they have you beholden to them by their generosity. No matter,” she had gone on briskly. “Lady Cunningham leaves tomorrow morning, as planned, with the children and their nurse. You’re to take the packet when you can (and I really think a week’s time is long enough to make her grateful when she sees you, yet short enough not to make her angry at a delay), and meet up with her at Quillack’s Hotel in Calais.”

Miss Parkinson had been quite right. A week’s time was sufficient to all purposes. It was both long enough for Julia to make her regret her decision, and short enough to cause her to feel panic. She shopped for trinkets to send home along with her explanatory letter. She purchased some small things for her own wardrobe. She accepted congratulations on her success from Mrs. White, along with a great many stories about both the perils and the pleasures of foreign travels from the experienced ladies at the boarding house. Then, without hesitation she set out from London by day, reached Dover by night, and sailed on an advantageous tide an hour into a new day.

Now the sky brightened to a clear fresh morning and Julia left the rail to seek the privacy of her cabin: For she knew that an unaccompanied female must never seem to be loitering, for any reason. So when the packet was docked, and customs agents boarded it, Miss Julia Hastings appeared to be a calm, composed, purposeful young female, and even the French officials did no more than to rest their eyes upon her appreciatively when they thought she wasn’t looking.

Though she was outwardly cool, it took every bit of her training not to show her excitement. Once she had accepted her fate, it was the resiliency of her character which made her admit the thrill she felt knowing that she was to travel in a foreign land. She had some French, from lessons taken with Lord Quincy’s daughters, but now no syllable she heard from the streets struck sense to her ears. Perhaps it was because the information received from her eyes had taken precedence.

She stared at the citizens of Calais as the hired carriage took her to the hotel. There were peasants in their colorful garb, solid middle class citizens looking not too dissimilar from the stolid English burghers she had seen in Dover, and both French and English soldiers walked the same streets without rancor. In fact, she thought as the carriage drew up to the hotel, these citizens didn’t seem to be a defeated people, they seemed happy and busy and perhaps only felt relief rather than resentment, now that Bonaparte’s fate seemed finally settled.

Julia was pleased that the manager of the hotel spoke English, and she softly and clearly stated her name and the name of Lady Cunningham. At the mention of her new employer, the manager gave Julia a wide smile and a knowing look. In fact, she thought with annoyance as he grinned at her, this was the first time since she had arrived in France that she had been the recipient of the sort of look that the good women of Mrs. White’s establishment had warned her against. So her back was very straight and her head very high when the manager showed her directly into a private salon, before he even attended to her luggage.

“Miss Julia Hastings to see Lady Cunningham,” he announced with a flourish; and then, bowing, he retreated from the room, closing the door behind him.

The sole occupant of the room, a gentleman who had been seated gazing out the window, rose as she entered and turned to face her. He gazed upon her with great satisfaction before he finally spoke.

“Good afternoon, Miss Hastings,” he said softly.

Julia stood very still. Then she could ask only, “Where is Lady Cunningham?”

“Why, she is here before you. Or, rather, as you will come to understand, I am she,” replied Baron Stafford, with a twisted smile that had nothing to do with humor upon his lips. “You see,” he added coldly, “it is as I told you. I, at least, honor my vows. ”

₅

Only twice before in her life had Julia found herself totally incapable of coherent speech. The first
time, she had been thrown from the top of a hay wagon during a friendly tussle with her sister, and when she had opened her eyes to see her father’s anxious face looming above her as she lay upon the ground, the gift of speech seemed to have failed her. The second time had come years later, when she had entered her own house one windy October night with a strange gentleman standing rigidly at her side, and she had seen the amazed and aghast looks upon all of her family’s faces. Then, she had not even had the presence of mind to introduce him, and had only heard him say, from far away, “Good evening. I am Sir Edwin Chester, and I’ve come to bring your daughter safely home to you.”

Now she stood in the tastefully decorated private parlor of a hotel in a foreign land and gazed steadily at the gentleman before her, and it seemed that the sight of him had knocked the wind from her even as the fall from the wagon had, and the look upon his face frightened the wits from her, even as the shock upon the faces of her family had.

“Do sit down, Miss Hastings,” the baron said in an offhand manner. “We have much to talk about.”

But Julia would not be seated. She only stood and gripped her reticule firmly in her hands as though that were the only reality she could safely hold on to. Her first thought was to run, only it seemed that her knees were too weak to carry her to the door, much less to the street. And then when she remembered that those streets were unfamiliar ones and that she had no idea of whether she would be running to safety or to further danger, she merely remained standing, hoping inspiration for some sort of action would occur to her.

The baron looked at her oddly, then shrugged. He seated himself again, crossed his legs, and began speaking. “Then stand, if you will. The point is that I told you your services were required upon the Continent, and happily enough, it seemed that your services were for hire at the time they were needed. So I employed you.”

Julia found herself sinking to a chair as he spoke, as though her watery limbs had made the decision her dazed mind could not. The baron only nodded approvingly at her action and then left off looking at her. He made a steeple with his long white fingers and seemed to study it as he spoke.

“I knew, of course, that the Misses Parkinson were your agents. The rest was simplicity itself. Well, I could hardly tr
u
ss you up and carry you off from London in a closed coach, as in all the popular romances, could I?” he asked as he flashed Julia a brilliant smile, before he went on just as though she had given him a reply, “No. Of course, I could not. So I simply employed Lady Cunningham to employ you, and the thing was achieved in a far more correct and less athletic fashion.

“I don’t know why you are so amazed, Miss Hastings,” he added. “The only wonderment I find in it is that so many people accepted that ridiculous accent she adopted. For I told Lilli (your Lady Cunningham, Miss Hastings) that her accent wouldn’t fool a child. I hired her on because she is indeed,
truly, from France, and speaks in the most charming manner. But she insisted that most English persons are actually pleased when a foreigner mangles their language, since it confirms their secret belief that anyone not privileged to be
born
on English soil hasn’t the wit to master it. In fact, she insisted that the more bizarre the speech, the more convincing she would be. If
she had used only her own slight accent, she assured me, then she might well come under suspicion, but if she spoke some incomprehensible jumble, she would never be doubted for a moment.

“I am really most impressed by her astuteness,” the baron commented expansively, “for I thought that Germanic-Slavic-French
mélange
she invented was the stuff of music halls. She is a far better actress than I gave her credit for. Now I wonder why it is that she only plays minor parts at the Sadler-Wells theater where she is usually employed.”

As the baron sat quietly, apparently musing upon this theme, Julia found herself regaining her wits. Once her initial shock faded she found it replaced by a growing anger, a sense of injustice done which threatened to overcome her. But she reined in her emotions, reminding herself sternly that whatever else she might wish to do, she was in the unfortunate position of being alone with a mad person again.

She gazed at the gentleman as he relaxed in his chair. He was so neatly groomed, so ve
r
y handsome with his pale skin and wide clear long-lashed eyes, that she found that she could understand his family’s reluctance to confine him to some sort of custodial care. No matter how deranged he might be, his comportment gave little evidence of it. It could be that they cherished some unreasonable hopes for his recovery. Even if this were a misguided ambition, Julia found comfort in the very fact that his family had not placed him under restraint. If he were actually violent, she reasoned, no doubt he would not be running about loose.

So she pasted an artificial smile upon her lips, and then ventured to speak, softly and clearly, in much the same tones that she had often used with Toby when he had found an excellent hiding place when they played at Hide and Seek and then refused to disclose his whereabouts to her.

“Why it was a capital scheme, to be sure,” she said slowly, “and there is no question that it did succeed. For here I am, and until the moment that I laid eyes upon you, my lord, I’ll swear that I had no idea of your charade. It was all ve
r
y well done,” she concluded, giving him a reasonable facsimile of an approving smile.

The baron raised one dark, high, arched brow and looked at her very curiously as she continued.

“I concede that you have won. And very handsomely too. You were awfully clever. But now the game is up, and I find that I really must return home.”

Julia forced herself to her feet and, discovering that her lower limbs still functioned, was able to give the gentleman a more realistic smile.

“It has been most interesting,” she said sweetly, “and I confess that I have enjoyed the game as well, even if I did lose.”

She planned to go on to enumerate the various ways in which she had found his scheme successful, and had begun a slow imperceptible movement to leave, when he
rose from his chair and advanced purposely toward her. The sight of his cold and set features and the realization of his anger, as evinced by his tightly clenched hands, caused her words to catch in her throat.

He stood before her, not an arm’s length away, and she realized that though his frame was slender, it was deceptively so. There did not seem to be padding in the firm wide shoulders of his tightly fitting blue jacket, and the set of his clenched teeth enabled her to clearly see the clean lines of musculature that ran from his jaw to his strong neck. Now, she felt real terror.

“You are either a fool, Miss Hastings, which I sincerely doubt, or you are laboring under some foolish misapprehension,” the baron said, reaching out to take her chin in his hand and gaze directly into her eyes.

But now natural anger displaced all of Julia’s carefully thought-out evasions. She slapped his hand away and cried, “Do not touch me!

“I do not like to be touched,” Julia blurted, “and you are forever gripping my chin and looking at me this way and that, as though I were a noddy doll or some other sort of insensible object.” Then, acutely aware of the flash of anger she had seen in his changeable eyes, she swallowed hard and went on in accents that she hoped did not sound so pitiful to his ears as they did to her own, “I’m sorry if I have angered you, I did not mean to do so, it is only that I have told you that you’ve won. I’ll apologize as well, if that is what you wish. Only pray don’t be angry with me. It’s just that I’m not in the mood for any more games, my lord, and I should like to go home now. We’ll play again another day, if you wish,” she added, her voice now trembling as much as her knees were as he frowned down at her in silence.

“By God!” he exclaimed at last in an undervoice. “Do you think me mad?”

Since that was precisely the reaction she had least wished for him to have, Julia felt positively faint. When he saw her blanch, however, he looked as startled as she felt.

“Good lord,” he said, reaching out to take her hands, and then dropping those two icy shivering members as soon as he had gripped them. “You do.”

There was such incredulity in his voice and such amazement in his face as he shook his head that Julia took heart. It did not seem as though he were about to go off in a blind rage immediately, so she had at least the space of a few heartbeats to quieten her breathing and order her thoughts.

“Miss Hastings,” the baron said after he had taken an agitated turn about the room, “I assure you that I am in full possession of my senses. I realize,” he added on a half laugh, which quite transformed his face, since she had never seen him honestly amused before, “that my assurances on the matter will have little weight for I don’t believe that madmen generally
do
admit to their deficiency. I don’t believe they even realize it,” he continued, as though to himself, frowning once more at the direction of his thoughts, “but I promise you that no one has ever accused me of such. At least, not to my face. That’s small consolation for you, isn’t it?” he added wryly, before he smiled once again and said with finality, “I am not mad, Miss Hastings, and though like most men, I cannot prove that fact, I can at least reiterate it: I am, for all my sins, quite sane. Whatever gave you the notion that I was deranged?” he asked curiously.

“Why this whole episode,” Julia replied, feeling as though she herself were unbalanced, trying to explain why she found the present situation she was in unusual, when the mere fact of it was incredible. Still, he now seemed so reasonable, there was the faintest hope that there had been some monstrous mistake made and discussion might right matters again.

“The fact that I am standing here now,” Julia said bravely. “The fact that Lady Cunningham doesn’t exist. The fact that you lured me to France, and wrote me those letters. None of it makes any sense, there’s not a bit of it that is rational.”

But now his air of sweet reason vanished again and he turned a face to her that was cold and implacable. Julia could not control the little gasp that escaped her lips, and at that, the baron seemed taken aback again. He made a sound of exasperation, and then sighed. “Sit down, Miss Hastings,” he said in a neutral tone, “as far away as you wish, but close enough to hear me out.”

Julia seated herself in a small gilt chair comfortably close to the closed door. The baron stood and looked down at her with a certain amount of calculation apparent in his gaze. Then he sighed again and said in very emotionless tones, “I told you the whole of it when we last met. But if you like, I’ll go over it again. It is my ambition to reunite you with Robin. I know that you have cast him off twice before, you know that I am not precisely ove
r
joyed at the thought of a match between you. But needs must when the devil drives. He is about to come into his honors. He will soon be the Marquess of Marlowe, if his father’s doctors do not lie. And then he will be needed at home, to oversee his estates, to comfort his mama, to eventually establish his own family. As you were the one whose actions drove him abroad, and you are the one whose further rejection keeps him there, you are quite naturally the one to coax him back to England where he belongs. Now, I have promised to pay you ve
r
y well for your efforts and even more if you manage to achieve these ends without actually tying the knot with him. Where is the madness in that?”

“But it’s all of it mad,” Julia cried, “for I told you before and shall tell you again: I have not heard from Robin for these past three years, nor do I wish to.”

“
I have letters from Robin stating all of this,
”
the baron said wearily.

“And I tell you that it is madness, and none of it true,” Julia said, tears of vexation starting in her eyes.

“Robin does not lie,” the baron said flatly, with an air of impatience.

“Nor do I!” Julia insisted.

Her
inquisi
t
or
cast one bright look at her, and then said, shaking his dark head, “No doubt it’s a deep game you’re playing. I cannot hope to fathom it, and since you are intent on keeping it to yourself, I shall not even try. But in any event, you are here. And you will cooperate, I believe, at least to the extent of confronting Robin. For you’re a good enough business woman to realize that you haven’t really any other choice.”

“
Oh, but I do!” Julia stated flatly, for madman or sane man, it made little difference any longer, this was an interview she must end at once. “I have a return ticket. And I have funds enough to purchase another if you take it from me. And I have family that will purchase yet another if you take my funds. I think,” she said with her head held as high as though she marched to the hangman’s noose to the cheering of unseen crowds, “that you will have to murder me to prevent my leaving. And if you are truly not mad, you shall not,” she went on as if reassuring herself aloud, “for if you are serious in your stated intentions, I cannot see how my demise will do you the least good.”