The Redemption of Julian Price (10 page)

“That’s so unfair!” Henrietta declared.

“It is a man’s world, my dear. They make the rules. The only way for a woman to achieve happiness is to learn how to bend them to our will.”

“The men or the rules?” Henrietta asked.

Lady Cheswick smiled and inclined her head to the tea tray. “Would you pour please?”

“Henrietta Houghton!” Both women startled as Harry barged into the morning room, his face as purple as a beet. “A young woman does not go about town randomly proposing to chaps! It’s just not done, I tell you!”

“I see you’ve spoken to Julian,” Henrietta replied calmly. “Would you like a cup of tea, Harry?”

“No! I don’t want any bloody tea! I want you to come to your senses and return home at once.”

“As it happens, I will be returning home in two days’ time . . . with Julian,” she replied, setting down the porcelain teapot. “One lump or two, my lady?”

“Three,” Lady Cheswick replied. “And don’t spare the milk. Is your brother always so excitable? While I find it highly entertaining, one wonders if he might be at risk for an apoplectic seizure.”

“Harry’s generally a jovial chap,” Henrietta assured her aunt. “To be honest, I’ve never seen him quite like this.”

“What the devil are you thinking, Hen?” Harry continued his rant. “Julian is not husband material. He has nothing to offer you.”

“I am quite aware of his circumstances,” she said. “But thanks to Lady Cheswick,” she smiled at her great-aunt, “I am now in a position to help him.”

“But why, Hen? I know he’s a childhood friend, but he’s entirely inappropriate. If you have taken it into your head to marry, there are any number of eligible chaps—”

“I wish to marry
Julian
,” she reaffirmed. “Please sit down, Harry,” Henrietta urged, “and let us discuss this calmly.”

“But why Julian?” he asked, still looking incredulous. “He has no money, is about to lose his properties, and has even sold his commission. I know we’re longtime friends, but the man has absolutely nothing to recommend him.”

“Nevertheless, I believe we will suit one another,” she replied.

He turned to Lady Cheswick. “Is there nothing you would do to dissuade her?”

“No, my boy, I would not dissuade her. Although it was not done so in my day, Henrietta has every right to decide who she binds herself to for life.”

Harry flung himself into a chair with a groan. “You are making a mistake, Hen.” He shook his head. “A terrible mistake.”

Henrietta rose and crossed the room to her brother, teacup in hand. “While I truly appreciate your concern, what transpires between Julian and me is our business alone.”

“But I am the head of the family,” he protested. “It’s my responsibility to protect you.”

“I don’t need your protection, Harry. I have reached my majority. Whatever you may think,  I now have the legal right to decide what is best for me. My life is my own to live or to ruin however I wish. Why can’t you accept my decision and wish us happy?”

“You know I cannot,” Harry said grimly.

“But Julian is your friend too!”

“He was . . . until he did this dastardly thing,” Harry said. “Henceforth, he is dead to me. Pray think carefully before you do this, Henrietta. If you go through with the marriage, you may also consider yourself dead to the family.”

“Surely you don’t mean that!” she protested.

“I do,” he insisted. “I am only looking out for you. You have no idea the kind of life Julian leads.”

“I  think I have a very good idea,” she said.

“Are you aware that he keeps a mistress?” Harry blurted.

“Does he?” she answered, outwardly impassive. Julian had already admitted that he kept a woman. He’d also told her that he didn’t love her, but did he still intend to keep her? She’d been afraid to ask but now she knew she could not live with competition for his affections.

“And what precisely would
you
know of such things as mistresses?” Henrietta asked.

“I’ve seen the woman myself,” he exclaimed. 

“So you also consort with loose woman, Harry?” Henrietta asked, brows arched. “I can’t imagine what Penelope would think of that. Indeed, she might wonder what brought you to town so close to your wedding day.”

“You wouldn’t dare mention such a thing!”

“Wouldn’t I? Perhaps I shall write Penelope to tell her I have seen you here in town with Julian.”

Harry’s gaze narrowed with sudden understanding. “What do you want from me, Henrietta?”

“I want to know who she is,” Henrietta replied.

“Who?”

“Julian’s mistress. I wish to speak with her.”

“What!” He made a choking sound. “You can’t do such a thing!”

“Why not?” Henrietta asked. Julian had implied that she’s was a respectable woman, the widow of an army officer. “I wish to know her name and direction.”

“I will not give it to you.”

“No? Then I shall spend my afternoon penning a letter to Penelope.”

“Curse all womankind!” Harry exclaimed. “Her name is Muriel Mathieson. She lives on Bedford Street, Covent Garden. No good can come out of any of this, I tell you. You have thrown all good sense out the window.”

“Please don’t be this way, Harry,” she pleaded. “I have no desire to alienate my family, but Julian and I will be wed whether you give your blessing or not.”

“Very well.” Harry rose stiffly. “I have spoken my piece. If that is the way of it, I shall take my leave.” Harry turned to his great-aunt with a curt bow. “I bid you both good day.”

Henrietta looked after her brother with burning eyes. How could her twin be so compassionless? And why did no one besides her see any good in Julian? Was Harry right? Logic made her question her actions. Was she doing the best thing for both of them, or was she about to make the biggest mistake of her life?

“Do you think I am making a mistake?” Henrietta asked her aunt.

“It is never a mistake to follow your heart’s leading, Henrietta,” Lady Cheswick said. “Regrets over a love lost will never keep you warm at night.”

Her heart had led her to Julian, but now doubts cast a dismal shadow over her. Would he ever grow to love her? Would he ever be a husband to her in truth?  Why, oh why, had she told him she didn’t wish to consummate? Was it only fear that she wouldn’t measure up to his mistress? She wondered again which would be worse? To have sexual relations and be found wanting, or never to experience it at all? 

“But what am I to do if Julian intends to keep his mistress? I have no desire to share my husband.”

“Do you think Julian loves her?”

“He says he does not,” Henrietta replied. “But how can I know? It would be a foolish thing indeed to tie myself to a man who loves another.”

She trusted the old Julian, but many years had passed, and the episode in the tavern told her there was much she didn’t know about him. One way or another, she had to know Julian’s true feelings for the woman. There was only one way to find the answers she sought—and those answers lived in Covent Garden Square.

***

J
ulian left the bishop’s offices late that afternoon with a marriage license in his pocket, deliberating his next move. His thoughts were random as he navigated the congestion of London traffic from Fulham Palace to Covent Garden Square, where he parked his phaeton in the mews behind the row of nondescript town houses. He’d left Shropshire days ago with plans to call on Muriel as soon as he’d arrived in town, but strangely, had found himself avoiding her. He didn’t know why.

Although she’d proposed marriage, Hen had made clear her aversion to conjugal relations with him. Why had she rejected the idea out of hand? Was she also afraid of souring their friendship? She’d even gone so far as to imply she’d turn a blind eye to Muriel. The more he considered it, the more distasteful Julian found the notion of wedding one woman and bedding another. If he were to take Henrietta to wife, he wanted her to be a true wife—one who would share his life as well as his bed. What was he to do if she refused him? A man had needs, and he’d already denied his far too long. Although he’d come to Muriel tonight to take his pleasure, his sense of wrong grew stronger the nearer he approached Muriel’s door.

By the time he reached for the knocker, the desire to bed his mistress had waned almost completely. Had the time come to end this arrangement? Was that why he’d dragged his feet? Because he’d really come to say good-bye? He realized it was so.

Having come to a final resolution, he raised his fist and sounded three impatient raps on the door. “Is your mistress at home?” he inquired of the middle-aged woman who answered his knock.

“Aye. She be at home, sir. Is my lady expecting ye, Mr. Price?”

“No, Mrs. Tillman. Could you please inform her that I have come to call?”

“Aye, sir.” She stepped back and opened the door to him. “If ye’d be pleased to wait in the drawing room, my lady will attend ye directly.” The servant bobbed a curtsy and disappeared.

He wondered what she thought of his arrangement with her employer. If she disapproved, she’d never let on. Feeling like a caged animal, Julian paced the length of the tiny drawing room until Mrs. Tillman returned.

“My lady is dressing for the evening but says she’ll receive ye in her boudoir, sir,” she replied with her gaze respectfully averted.

Julian ascended the stairs, his thoughts and emotions still jumbled. Would this be a fond farewell or an awkward and tearful good-bye? He rather hoped for the former but steeled himself for the latter. He entered to find Muriel in the midst of her toilette.

“Julian?” She rose from her dressing table to greet him. “I didn’t expect you back so soon from the country.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t send word,” he said. “But I honestly didn’t know when I’d return. Did you have a prior engagement?” he asked, eyeing the gown that lay ready for her, an emerald green silk, the first gift he had given  her.

“None that I can’t easily break,” she replied with a smile and entwined her arms around his neck. “I’ve missed you.”

Muriel Mathieson was a well-born woman with the kind of voluptuous beauty that any red-blooded man would appreciate. Yet he’d always regarded her with the kind of appreciative detachment that one felt while viewing a work of art. Her gaze met his with a puzzled look when he withdrew to arm’s length rather than pulling her into an embrace.

“You may feel differently after you hear me out,” he said. 

“Oh?” Her dark brows arched over a pair of vivid green eyes.

“I came to tell you I’m to be wed.”

“You are?” She blinked. “But this is so . . . so abrupt. You’ve said nothing about it!”

“Because I didn’t know myself. Until yesterday, I was determined to return to Portugal.”

Her brows furrowed. “You were?”

“Yes.” He scrubbed his face with a sigh. “I had little choice, Muriel. My affairs are a mess.”

“So your bride has money?” Her lips pursed. “I did not think you were that type.”

“Why type is that?” he asked.

“A fortune hunter.”

He pulled his brows together in a frown. “I know that’s how it appears, but it’s not what you think. I’ve known Henrietta Houghton all my life. It was actually
she
who approached
me.
”

“She asked you to marry her? How . . . extraordinary.”

“Yes,” Julian responded with a low chuckle. “That word quite describes her.”

“It sounds like you are very fond of her.”

“I am. We were exceptionally close as children. She’s one of the few people in this world that I truly care about.”

“When will this take place?” she asked.

“Within the week,” Julian replied. “I procured the license today. We will be wed in our home parish in Shropshire.”

“I see,” she said, her expression impassive.

He studied her face, wondering if she cared more deeply than he’d thought or if it was only concern over the loss of income?

“I would not leave you high and dry, Muriel.” Julian reached into his coat pocket and retrieved a gold watch. “I wish you to take this. It was my father’s. It should bring enough to tide you over for several months . . . at least until . . .” He looked away, not knowing how to finish. He assumed their relationship was exclusive, but he’d never actually asked her.

“Until I find another protector?” she supplied tightly. “I think not. I never intended this, Julian. You and I just happened, but this isn’t the life I desire.”

“Then what will you do?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “I need time to think. I thank you for the courtesy of telling me. Many men would simply have disappeared.”

He took her hand and caressed her knuckles. “I would never do that,” he said.

“Thank you. So this is our good-bye?” she asked, her voice soft and her gaze searching.

“Yes,” Julian said. Taking her hand, he raised it to his lips. “Good-bye, Muriel.”

Releasing her, he once more offered the watch. When she made no move to accept it, he laid it on her dressing table on his way to the door.

“I wish you happiness, Julian,” he heard her whisper to his back.

He paused with his hand on the latch. “Good-bye, Muriel,” he said with quiet finality, opened the door, and then closed the chapter of his bachelorhood.

––––––––

W
ITH HER GLOVED HAND POISED ON THE KNOCKER, Henrietta paused to take a breath, hoping to calm her racing pulse. Given its proximity to Covent Garden, the neighborhood appeared surprisingly respectable with it’s rows of neatly aligned brick town houses. She wondered anew about the woman who lived here. What was she like? Would she receive Henrietta or turn her away? She exhaled slowly and rapped softly at the door. Several few moments passed before a middle-aged woman in a white mobcap answered the door.

Henrietta raised her chin and cleared her throat. “I have come to call upon Mrs. Mathieson. Is she at home?”

The servant stepped back eyeing her curiously. “Whom shall I say calls?”

“I beg your pardon. My name is Henrietta Houghton from Bishop’s Castle, Shropshire. Although I have not met Mrs. Mathieson, she and I have a mutual acquaintance in Lieutenant Julian Price.” The servant’s eyes flickered at the mention of Julian’s name. “Perhaps you have met him?”