Christian nodded to himself. He was. He finally was. He could see it all now.
One. He needed to talk to his mother.
Two. “Draft a note to Lady Judith,” he said. “Tell her I must speak with her. It’s urgent.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
“Lillian. Mother.”
It had taken Christian an hour to convene this counsel in his parlor, another fifteen minutes to manage the niceties of tea (for those who partook) and sandwiches and lemonade (for him).
“Thank you for coming on such short notice.”
His cousin reached out and squeezed his hand. “We’re worried about you, Christian. You did so much for me when I came out. How could you imagine I would do anything else?”
“I didn’t.” He smiled at her. “Still. Thank you. I know I’ve been difficult recently. I asked you both here because I need your help, and because I need to tell you something.”
They both leaned forward attentively.
“Oh, thank God.” His mother smiled. “Do you mean to tell me you’ve changed your mind about my physician? I’ll send for him—”
“No.” Christian set down his glass of lemonade. “Mother. I apologize. I have done you a disservice.”
“You have?” She frowned at him. “I have no recollection.”
“I have.” He reached out across the table and took her hand. “For the last decades of my life, I’ve allowed you to believe a falsehood. A comfortable falsehood, I thought, but a falsehood nonetheless.”
“You’re only twenty-eight. What kind of a secret…” She trailed off.
“Laudanum.” He allowed the word to settle into the conversation, waited for her face to slowly change to a mask of confusion. “I don’t refuse it because it makes me muzzy-headed, because it gives me vivid dreams, or even because I dislike the taste. I refuse it because I developed an addiction to it when I was young. It was so severe that when I was at Eton, I took a dose that nearly killed me. I stopped breathing.”
She inhaled and tried to pull her hand away. Christian held on tightly.
“When I was…imbibing, I would set my day by my doses. It took over everything I was, everything I wanted. There is no safe dose, not for me.”
His mother set down a trembling teacup. “I’m… I have no idea what to say, Christian. No idea what to think. Words can’t begin to describe how I feel. I’m so sorry.”
“No. Don’t be sorry.” He reached out and took her shaking hand.
“You must know, I never intended…”
“I know. I know, Mama. I know. You did it because you loved me. You did it to save me. And you did. It’s why I never wanted you to know—not because I don’t trust you, but because I never wanted you to doubt that I loved you. You never gave up on me.” He slid his arm around her and held her close. “I love you. Thank you. But…it’s enough. I’m done telling you comfortable falsehoods.”
His mother laughed shakily. “No, no. Don’t go so far, Christian. All of British society is built on comfortable falsehoods. What else will we have to talk about?”
“Well.” He smiled. “Here’s one thing. I hope I’ll be marrying Judith Worth, and if I do… Well, let’s say there will be no room in my life for comfortable falsehoods. Or, possibly, British society.”
Possibly even more. Lillian had been quiet the entire time. She looked over at him. “Judith Worth? The daughter of the unfortunate Earl of Linney? That Judith Worth?”
“Yes. That Judith Worth.”
His cousin inhaled. “Christian. You know she’ll never be accepted in society. Her father—her brother—”
“I know,” Christian said. “I don’t care about society, and quite frankly, I think she’ll be too busy with her own concerns to care, either. I care about my family. If she says yes, will you accept her?”
The moments seemed to pass, infinitely long. His mother looked down. Lillian set her teacup on the table and adjusted the sleeves of her gown.
Finally, she looked up. “Will she make you happy?”
“The happiest.”
Lillian gave him a firm nod. “You idiot. What part of I will do anything to see you as happy as I am did you not understand?”
“No part,” Christian said. “None at all.”
“Then go ask her. What are you waiting for?”
“This.” He put his arms around both of them and squeezed. “Just this.”
Christian had asked Judith to meet him in Hyde Park the next day.
She had arrived before he did. He saw her as she came close, standing on the bank of the Serpentine. Her hands were clasped behind her back and she paced up and down. Occasionally she’d reach up and touch her bonnet, adjusting the brim.
She watched the waterfowl drift past, a pair of swans gliding in tandem. Her hands squeezed together. The sheer hunger in her gaze as she contemplated them nearly knocked him back a pace. She was hurting, too.
A low, insistent sense of longing filled him. He touched the hat on his head as he came up to her. She turned to him. Her eyes were wide and dark and oh, just a little hurt. As if she’d been wounded.
She had come. That was what he held on to. She had come. She inhaled as he stepped toward her, tilting her head up to look at him.
He smiled at her. “Oy, Fred,” he said. “How’s the algae?”
Judith’s eyes narrowed. “No. You will not get me to play your male swan lover. Not now. Not in Hyde Park, of all places. I’m trying to forget you, not—”
He held a finger close to her lips and she stilled, looking up at him. “Then listen to me. I made a list, and lists solve everything. They really do.”
She let out a desperate laugh. “They don’t. They really don’t.”
“This one does.” Christian gave her his best cocky smile. “Listen and learn. One, you don’t trust me.”
She flinched.
“And I don’t blame you.” He dropped his voice. “I know what I did. I know what you think. I wouldn’t trust me either, were I you. I know what happened with your brother. Trust needs to be earned, not expected.”
She didn’t step away from him at that mention of Anthony.
“That brings me to two.” He leaned down so he could look her in the eyes. “The only way you will learn to trust me again is if I am trustworthy. Nothing else will serve.”
“You are.” But her eyes looked down as she spoke, avoiding his gaze. “You are, Christian. It’s only—it’s simply that…”
“I know what it is.” Christian hoped she understood the warmth in his voice for the caress he wanted it to be. “It’s the next item on my list. Item C: Anthony is alive.”
She stilled. Even her breath ceased. Her head tilted back and she looked at him with wide eyes.
“Don’t fear,” he told her. “Don’t fear. Whatever worries you have, we can get through this.”
She shook her head. “No. Before that. You said one, two, C. Something is wrong. Dreadfully wrong.” She fumbled off one glove and reached a hand up to his forehead. “You don’t look like you’re running a fever.”
He caught her hand in his. He could feel her wrist against his thumb. He imagined he could sense her pulse, gently beating.
“No. And that’s not the only thing I’ve done wrong, Judith. I’ve kept quiet about a great many things—so many I didn’t realize it until now. I’ve told too many falsehoods in the name of comfort without even realizing that was what I was doing. I chose my comfort eight years ago, over yours and your family’s. I chose my mother’s comfort over the truth about her medicine. There are too many ways…” He shook his head. “If I am going to move forward, it seems only fair that I should learn to shut my mouth about your brother.”
“But—”
He squeezed her hand in his. “What would I say anyway? I don’t know anything about him now. No matter what I do, what I choose, the world will stay imperfect. I can’t solve all the problems of the British empire today. All I can do is choose where my loyalties lie. And that brings m
e to the fact that I’ve been reciting my list out of order.”
“Out of order? You? Impossible.” She didn’t pull away.
He nodded. “My lists have been out of order all these years. Would you know that all this time, I believed lists started at one? I was wrong. Lists start at zero, and I’ve been skipping the beginning my entire life.”
Her hand turned in his—not to escape, but so her fingers could interlace with his. “What is zero, then?”
“Item zero,” Christian said. “It’s you, Judith.”
She let out a long, slow exhale.
“Nothing ever made sense because I was trying to sort everything into place from one to ten. That was the mistake. You are the start of every list I’ve ever made. You are the beginning, the zeroth item, the unspoken predicate of my heart. You can’t put me first; I know that.”
Her eyes were wide and shining. “Christian.”
“You can’t put yourself first,” he said. “You have a younger sister collecting cats, another one who is still missing. You have another brother who is off in the world. I know you can’t put yourself first. So let me do it for you.”
She let out a long, shuddering breath. “Christian. When I walked away from you, I… I knew I shouldn’t. I wanted to do anything else. I’m sorry. I should have trusted you.”
“Trust me now.” He pulled her close. “If trust was low, it’s because the world has given you no reason to trust. Let me change that.”
“You can’t change the world.” But she looked up into his eyes.
“Maybe not all of it,” he said. “There are parts of it we will never put right.” He slid his fingers down her wrist to her elbow. “I can’t promise you perfection. There is too much wrong. But there are also little things that will go right, and I can promise you those. There will be perfect sunsets. Perfect kittens.”
“Perfect sandwiches,” she put in.
“Perfect walks,” he told her. “Perfect arias at the opera.”
“Perfect bread.”
“This world will take a great deal of work,” he said. “But… We can start in on that together. And while we’re sorting through all the imperfections, we can find more little things to make perfect. Perfect strawberries, for instance.”
“Perfect…marriages?” She smiled tremulously up at him.
“Yes.” He slid his arm around her waist. “But before that, might I suggest perfect kisses?”
“Yes.” She stepped close to him and tilted her face up to his. “Yes. Please.”
Epilogue
Fourteen months later
Judith woke in bed.
It was early autumn, just cold enough for a fire. She could detect heat against her face and the faint odor of burning wood. Even more faint was the scent of bread wafting from the kitchens below.
It was nothing to the heat of Christian’s hand on her hip. He was awake and touching her lightly. He’d promised her little notes of perfection, and he’d delivered.
Another hand touched her shoulder and he slid closer. So close she could feel his body against hers.
“Good morning,” he whispered. His stubbled chin rasped against her shoulder.
“Good morning.”
“I got up early just so I could toss all the cats out of the room,” he whispered to her.
“Mmm. No cats?”
“No cats. No commotion.”
Judith’s sleep-fogged brain finally began to wake. “Oh dear. No commotion. What do you suppose Theresa is up to?”
“Nothing she won’t still be doing in twenty minutes,” Christian said with a smile. “Here. Let me wake you properly.”
He pulled the covers back. The air was cool against her nightrail, but only for a moment. He slid next to her, cocooning her in his arms. His lips found hers.
“Mmm. You had mint tea sent up.”
“I did.” He kissed her again, minty and sweet, and she gave herself over to him. To the feel of his fingers running down her body. Stroking her arms, the crook of her elbow.
His mouth trailed kisses down her chin.
“I love you,” she said.
“Good.” His hand slid up her ribs to circle one of her breasts. “My nefarious plan is working.”
“Oh, no.” She could scarcely muster up what sounded like mock fear. “What nefarious plan have I fallen prey to?”
“It goes like this. One, I steal your capacity to reason.” His thumb brushed over her nipple and a spark of desire awoke, coiling deep between her thighs in response.
“I like one.” Judith breathed out. “Let’s keep on with one for a while.”
He ducked his head and took her nipple in his mouth. “Like this?”
“Yes.” It came out strangled. She reached out and pulled him on top of her—not that it took any pulling worth speaking of. He settled on top of her body, holding her in place, licking, his hips pressing hard into her.
Her hands slid under his night shirt. “Two,” she said breathlessly. “What’s two?”
“No two, not if you can still think,” Christian said with a wicked gleam in his eye.
“I can’t think. I promise.”
He raised an eyebrow at her. “Don’t lie to me, Judith. You’re thinking right now.”
Judith considered this. “Unfair. I don’t stop thinking just because you made a stupid list. When I get lustful, I don’t need all the blood in my brain to go anywhere else. Your list is physiologically impossible. I shouldn’t be denied number two because of it. You need to edit.”
“Two,” Christian said smoothly. “Edit item number one. Let’s just make it so that you enjoy yourself instead.”
“Accepted. As long as you get to enjoy me, too.”
He kissed her again, this time longer. His hands flirted with the bottom of her nightrail, sliding it up her thighs.
“Mmm.”
“I like that,” he said. “Mmm is close to mindlessness. And you said it couldn’t be done.”
“You said you edited.”
“Mmm.” He kissed her again, and she smiled.
“Three,” she said. “If I don’t stop you from thinking, clearly we’ll never get anywhere.” She pushed on his chest and he rolled away. Not for long. She straddled him, setting his hands on her chest. Feeling his body beneath her, all hard muscle. “Victory,” she proclaimed.
He smiled up at her. “Sweet, sweet defeat.”
It took them a moment to guide him inside her. She was wet and ready; he was hard and wanting. He growled in his throat as she sank onto him. God, it was good. So good.
There was no more talking as he urged her on, his hands finding her hips. There were no more numbers as she gave herself up to him, to the feel of their joining.
For a little space at the end, there was even no thinking at all. But Christian didn’t need to know that.
He waited until they’d finished. And kissed. Until he’d played with her hair, until they’d reluctantly agreed that breakfast downstairs was a necessity. He called his valet into the dressing room; she made do with her maid.
Her maid was settling slippers on Judith’s feet when Christian came to stand beside her.
“Oh, one last thing. I forgot to mention why I had a nefarious plan in the first place. Now that you’re feeling favorably inclined to me, maybe I should mention that I told Theresa yesterday she could have another seven cats?”
“What?” She stared at him in horror. “You didn’t. I can’t believe you.”
A grin took over his face.
“Oh.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “I see. You literally didn’t. I shouldn’t believe you.” Her hand slipped to her side, to the bed behind her. “You may have won this battle, Lord Ashford, but there are still numbers left on your list. I wouldn’t be so cocksure, were I you.”
“Are there?” He waggled an eyebrow at her. “What will you do with number five, Lady Ashford?”
Her fingers closed on a nearby pillow.
“Five…” She let her voice fall
to a throaty whisper, and she motioned him to lean in. “Five, I suppose, is…”
She whipped the pillow up, smacking him in the face with it. “Death to cat liars!”
“Not the pillow!” He held up an arm. “Anything but the pillow.”
She smacked him again—but as she hit him, one of the seams burst. Feathers spattered everywhere, exploding over them. They cascaded to the ground in a snow of down.
She stared at him and then very slowly, brushed feathers off her gown. “I didn’t think I hit you that hard.”
“You didn’t.” He brushed off his shoulders. “You know what this means, don’t you?”
“No…?” But she realized it a moment before he opened his mouth again. “No. Don’t say—”
“Who is England’s greatest chicken-killer?”
“—It.” She finished.
He leaned over and brushed white down off her shoulder. “You are,” he said softly. “You are. I’ll see you downstairs. You have feathers in your hair; you might want to do something about that.”
After the Epilogue
The bread was perfect. The kippers were perfect. The number of cats in the household was…oh very well, it was nineteen, but the cat population had been growing at a relatively small rate month-by-month, and Judith would take what she could.
She almost didn’t notice the knock on the front door. She almost didn’t pay attention to the rumble of voices out front.
But then she heard the voice. That voice. She didn’t recognize it, not really. Still, it sounded achingly familiar. As if she should have known it, but did not.
“No,” a woman said. “You have to let me in. I don’t need to go round the back. I only wish to have a word with Lady Judith. I must.”
“Lady Ashford,” she heard their butler say. “She’s Lady Ashford. Don’t speak of her in such familiar tones.”
Judith pulled her hand from Christian’s, and before he could say a word, darted into the hall. “Wait!”
The woman standing in the front entrance was missing shoes. She wore a dingy gown, the hem ragged and dripping in mud.