Unraveled By The Rebel (13 page)

“His Grace has sent men to help rebuild Ballaloch also,” Amelia admitted. “In the spring, we should be able to return home.”

Home.
The word should have brought comfort, but instead it reminded her that returning to Scotland meant leaving Matthew. Right now, she felt as if she were at a crossroads, trying to decide which life to leave behind.

It was far easier to say farewell to Scotland than to leave her son. Her mother wanted her to marry, but that was an impossible notion. No man wanted a celibate marriage.

She had to focus her efforts on Aphrodite’s Unmentionables and do everything in her power to ensure its success. Victoria opened her writing desk and retrieved a set of sketches she’d done. They were more modest undergarments, made from linen and the softest cotton.

“Now these are far more appropriate,” Margaret pronounced. “They are sensible, and any young lady could wear them without fear of being immodest.”

And they were like every other set of unmentionables. What made Aphrodite’s Unmentionables unique was the fact that they were impractical for anyone but the extremely wealthy. They were well made and offered a luxury that no other garments had. The women who bought them wanted to be different, more seductive to a man.

Juliette shook her head. “These don’t sell as well, I’m afraid. They may be beautiful, but the women want more revealing unmentionables.”

She glanced at Toria, and her sister reddened as if she understood what she meant. But instead of fear, there was a flush of interest in her sister’s face. She glanced at the bed as if she’d enjoyed the time with her husband.

“We should still make a few garments that are meant for younger women,” Victoria said.

Not too many, if Juliette had anything to do with it. She would ensure that only the finest, most sensual fabrics were used. Perhaps a few could be adorned with semiprecious jewels, to make them even more unique. They could be priced even higher. Her mind began calculating the greater profits, turning over the numbers, until Margaret interrupted.

“It’s getting late,” she said, reaching for her bonnet. “We should return, for Aunt Charlotte will be expecting us.”

Juliette put on her bonnet and gloves while Victoria rang for a footman and gave orders for a brougham to be brought for them. She hugged her sister farewell and went to join Amelia, while Margaret hung behind.

While the two of them spoke in whispers, Amelia leaned in to Juliette. “Aunt Charlotte is hosting a ball in a few days. You’re coming, aren’t you?”

“Perhaps.” She kept her answer vague, not wanting to agree to it.

“What if… you found someone you fancied at the ball? Would you steal a moment away with him?” The embarrassed flush on Amelia’s face sent a flare of warning through her. Was her sister plotting something? Guilt was written all over her face.

“No. And if you’re considering anything like that, put the idea out of your head. You’re far too young to be married.”

Amelia sent her a sad smile. “And you’re acting as if you’re a thousand years old.”

“I’m not.” Juliette forced a smile she didn’t feel onto her face, not wanting her sister to keep pushing.

Amelia drew her to the side. “You’ve been avoiding the parties, and you’re becoming the way Victoria was. I thought you promised to
try
to enjoy yourself. Even if you don’t want a husband.” The tone in her sister’s voice said she couldn’t fathom why Juliette would ever feel that way.

The truth was, she
didn’t
want to live a life in this way. She did want a husband and children, like any other woman. It was her sense of honesty holding her back.

“I am content to go on as I have,” she said, to appease her sister.

“It shouldn’t be that way,” Amelia said with a sigh, hugging her.

No, it shouldn’t. But what else was there?

Juliette returned the embrace, knowing that her sister was only trying to help. “We’ll go to Madame Benedict’s tomorrow. I need
to see how the unmentionables are selling, and you should find a new gown for the ball.”

Amelia beamed with happiness. But even through her sister’s smile, Juliette wondered what she wasn’t telling her.

Paul stepped into Colonel Lord Lanfordshire’s London town house, the scent of dust coating the air. The footman took his coat while the butler led them inside.

“These arrangements are only temporary,” Mr. Culpepper explained. “Once Lady Lanfordshire returns, you must acquire your own accommodations.”

“Of course,” Paul answered.

Each room revealed years of neglect. Most of the valuables had been sold off to pay debts, and what remained was an assorted collection of paintings, battered furniture, and worn carpet. It was clear that whatever servants remained in Colonel Lord Lanfordshire’s employ had failed to maintain cleanliness.

“Lady Lanfordshire said in her letter that you finished your medical studies.” The butler eyed him with the interest of a man who had his own ailments.

“I did.” Paul followed the man up two flights of stairs, knowing he would be placed in the servants’ quarters.

“You are a surgeon, I presume?” The butler kept his tone even, though Paul read the underlying assumption that he could do little more than amputate limbs.

“A physician and a surgeon,” he corrected. He’d earned licenses for each, and he fully intended to continue practicing medicine. Though he didn’t have to work, because of the allowance his uncle had sent, pride kept him from using it. This new life felt foreign to him, as if he didn’t deserve to be handed a fortune.

He’d gladly hand it back, if it meant his father could live again.

The butler paused a moment, seeming to reconsider their destination. He cleared his throat and then returned down a few more stairs. “This way, Dr. Fraser.”

Paul hid any reaction. Likely the man had originally intended to house him in an attic garret as a sleeping place. Instead, he was shown to a modest bedroom adjoining the nursery.

“Thank you.” The room had not been aired out, nor were there fresh bed linens. Even so, he recognized the room as one that must have belonged to the daughters of Lord Lanfordshire. The rose wallpaper and gilt chairs made that evident enough. Juliette herself might have slept in this room, as a young girl.

“I will send up a scullery maid to prepare the room for you.” With that, the butler left him alone.

Paul set down his belongings and went to open the window. The grim streets, the harsh odors, and the bustle of people made him yearn for the green hills of Scotland. He couldn’t imagine what had brought Juliette back here. Did she truly want to live in London?

He didn’t belong in a place like this, a city of strangers. He ran a hand over the roughened stubble on his cheeks. After nearly two weeks of traveling, he looked terrible. Over and over, he questioned why he was here.

Everything Juliette had done was a contradiction. With her words, she’d told him that she would never consider marriage to any man. And yet, with her actions, she’d sought him out. She’d allowed him to embrace her.

He wanted to believe that there could be something between them once more. That he could heal the invisible wounds that haunted her, those that made her believe she could not marry.

He would not press her; he would only offer his friendship. And perhaps, in time, it would grow into something more. If that meant finding his way about all the rules of London society,
taking on the identity of his uncle’s heir, well, he’d do whatever was necessary.

He opened up the writing desk with the intent of penning a note, when he spied a sheaf of crumpled paper scraps. They were written in Juliette’s hand, and each appeared to be an unfinished letter. All were addressed to him.

The first said only:
Dear Paul.
The second note had a single sentence:
I miss you.
The third letter began with a greeting and the words:
I don’t know how to say this to you.
The ink was blurred, as if she’d been crying. It was dated October of 1810, after the attack.

A rush of anger welled up inside him, along with the desire to kill the man who had done this to an innocent young woman. He was furious with himself that he hadn’t been there to save her.

She had supported him, when he’d lost his father. He should have been there for her.

Paul shut the desk, resting his hands upon the wood. God help him, he didn’t know what to do. If he investigated more, it would only draw attention to Juliette in a way that would hurt her. Few people knew of the attack, and he understood her need for secrecy.

It complicated his plans to win her over, but he intended to convince her that the past would not change his feelings. If anything, it made him more determined.

First, he had to make his way into her world. Physicians did not mingle with the ton—but a viscount’s heir could.

“They see what they want to believe,” his uncle Donald Fraser had told him, a year ago. “Become a viscount in the way you dress, in the way you speak, and in the way you behave. Tell them the lies they want to hear.”

Paul stood before his uncle, wearing a fine linen shirt, buff breeches, and a black waistcoat. His jacket was bottle green, and he’d worn his hair cropped short. Although he’d agreed to wear the
clothes his uncle had purchased, they felt unfamiliar, as if he were trying to be someone he wasn’t.

“Stand up straighter,” Donald commanded. “Behave as if you are above them all. Look bored.”

Paul attempted to feign indifference, but no matter how he tried to mask himself behind the finery, he knew what he was. A poor crofter’s son, trying to behave like a prince. It would never work, not in a thousand years.

“There’s nae point to this,” he argued. “I’ll ne’er be one of them.”

“Not if you keep saying nae, that’s true enough. But to know your enemy, you must walk within his world. You must know what is important to him.”

“Strathland’s a greedy bastard who wants land and money. I willna wear clothing like this, nor walk among the gentlemen as if I’m one of them.”

“You’re afraid,” Fraser predicted. “You’re afraid they’ll see past your clothes to the worthless man beneath.”

“I’m no’ worthless.”

His uncle’s face grew taut. “Then prove it. You may be my heir at the moment, but I’ve many years left to live. I’ll not hand over an allowance to a man who can’t even speak properly.”

“I havena asked anything of you,” Paul interrupted. “All I want is my vengeance on Strathland. Make someone else your heir.”

“I’m not too old to marry and beget a son,” Donald retorted, though Paul doubted if any woman would wed such a surly man. His uncle shook his head with irritation. “But if I die tomorrow, it will come to you, whether you will it or not. The estates are entailed, and damned if I’ll let you squander them away. You have no appreciation of what I’m giving to you. You have so much to learn and—”

“Help me bring him down,” Paul said quietly. “If becoming a viscount will help me end Strathland, I’ll do what I must.”

“God help us both.” Donald sighed. “You cannot let your desire for vengeance control you. Even if you do kill the earl, you’ll hang
for it. And then what will happen to your beloved?” He paused, as if thinking for a moment. “Oh, that’s right. She’ll wed a man who’s worthy of her. An intelligent man who knows how to tie a cravat.”

The mention of Juliette stopped Paul cold. He had to do more, to become a man her family would be proud of.
She
was the reason he was attempting this façade. Juliette was his compass, guiding him toward his true purpose.

He straightened the lines of his jacket, lifting his chin. She belonged in gowns and jeweled finery. And although it felt like he was trying to put on a false face, he’d do it if it meant winning her.

“I’ll learn what I need to, to become your heir,” he said at last.

“If
you become my heir,” Donald corrected. “Finish your studies at the medical college, and make something of yourself first. The education will do you good. Afterward, you will learn how to handle the estates.”

He didn’t argue, for it was the chance he wanted, to live out his own dream of becoming a doctor.

“Thank you, Uncle,” he said at last. For he
was
grateful for the schooling.

His uncle squared his shoulders. “You have a great deal to learn, and you’ll have to learn it, even during your medical studies—else you’ll risk embarrassing yourself.” He eyed Paul as if he didn’t like what he saw. “You must attend social functions and do exactly as I tell you to. You must practice behaving properly. You need to learn how to infiltrate the ranks of the upper class.”

Paul had kept his word, learning everything his uncle had wanted him to. And now was his chance to put it all into practice.

He opened his bundle of clothing, staring at the black tailcoat and snowy white cravat he’d brought with him. If he behaved with enough arrogance, using the elegant clothes and presenting himself as a viscount’s heir, they might believe him. He needed to prove to Juliette and to her family that he could be the right husband for her.